Maraudic Revelations
by whirligigkat
Summary: They both scramble off the bed and sprint silently to the large window. They stare at the moon, and the moon stares back at them. They trade a moment of silence, where breaths have frozen in awe and eyes take in all of the night that is possible. Their ears perk as, from far away, a howl is heard in the distance. Marauders-era, plus Lily and Severus- Canon. Friendship/Humor/Angst
1. September 1, 1970: Sirius

**September 1, 197** **0**

 **Sirius**

I've just been sorted into Gryffindor.

What.

I'm a bit _numb_ now, you know, because I don't even want to think about how ANGRY father is going to be. It's just bad luck, is what it is, but who cares cos I've entirely BOLLOXED my entire school existence in the space of FOUR HOURS.

The blokes I sat with on the train- Rodolphus, I think, and- Wilkes? Don't remember- but anyway they're BOTH in Slytherin. I'M supposed to be there, every single ONE of my family has been in Slytherin and I'm just..so, so so so SO….bolloxed. They'll hire some assassin to come murder me in the night with great bloody axes. Or something.

It's not that I even _liked_ Rudolphus and Wilkes- they were actually busy tripping Mudbloods up in the hallway for most of the trip, they seemed a bit stupid and, you know, hulking and all that- but anyway it's not like I particularly enjoy most of my family's company, even, so maybe it's better I'm not in the same house as _Bellatrix…_

Maybe it'll be alright in Gryffindor- maybe I should forget about the giant bloody axe murderers and focus on how glorious it will be when Father and Mother get the news…Ohhhhhhh they're going to be SO angry…I'll just write them, shall I?

DEAREST MOTHER AND FATHER:

You'll be happy to note that I've gone and landed myself in GRYFFINDOR.

I know that you will be EVER SO PLEASED.

Your Moste Loyal, Excellent, Mind-Bogglingly Wonderful, Pure-blood and First-born Son,

SIRIUS

That's rather appealing, isn't it? I think I will send exactly this. Oh, how mother will wail, Father will howl exotic curses and together they will cast that dastardly letter into the flames, where it will ERRUPT in Gold and Red sparks and OH how they shall CURSE THE DAY SIRIUS THE GREAT WAS BORN!

Or something along those lines. That sounds pretty bloody fantastic though. We'll just assume it'll go like that, shall we? Suppose I won't have to see them for AGES anyway.

So much for assassins in the night.

There's this boy staring at me from the bed across. Well, not really, he kind of peeks and looks very embarrassed to say anything. Let's see how long he can hold out, eh!

Actually he's the one I saw when I was about to put on the Sorting Hat. I didn't tell you about that.

I was practicing my 'lofty sneering' expression- because Father seems to wear it so well, and he always just OOZES confidence- which can really be quite intimidating- so anyhow, stupid arse that I am, I decided to be very confident and wear The Expression- though Regulus tells me I look a bit as if I've swallowed a sock. But he's an idiot, so.

Anyway, of course this is exactly when I've been called to put on the hat, so I trip over my feet but still! CONFIDENCE OOZER! LORD OF FIRST YEARS!

But then, you know for this split-second before the Hat drops over my eyes and blocks everything from view, this bloke catches my eye. And I was, and am so far into my Hogwarts experience, unbe _liev_ ably unsatisfied with the people I've met, and so this rather friendly-looking bloke sort of twitches, and we look at each other and I think Merlin's BALLS I am so sick of idiots, and all this Mudblood-Pure-blood utter crap. And so he gives me this little smile, a kind of, hello! I'm a nice person, maybe we'll be friends, eh? And I'm just frowning a bit, thinking, EH?

But he's got a friendly face, with rather a large nose (although not as large as this greasy-haired boy I saw earlier- nose of EPIC proportions, that-) and- very cool- a long bit of scar down his cheek. Wonder where he got that bit of manliness? I wish I had a scar. Everyone would hear the stupendous tale of how I fought off a dragon single-handedly whilst defending a beautiful maiden, who, of course, would be much older than my eleven-year-old self, and far bustier than any eleven-year-old girl I've yet to lay eyes on.

But anyway.

So then down the hat goes, and I'm still thinking, 'BOY HOW GREAT WOULD IT BE TO HAVE FRIENDS THAT AREN'T COMPLETELY INSUFFERABLE PRATS!' Because, you know, being with Regulus constantly TRULY takes its toll.

That hat was awful though. Like it was strolling around my BRAIN, which was, you know, awkward to say the least, and I could almost hear it probing around in my thoughts.

'Ambitious?' it goes. 'Yes, I suppose...and headstrong, yes..' and here I'm thinking, 'la dee dah, ho hum, Slytherin for me I suppose..'

But THEN it starts, 'But also very playful, loyal, a thirst for friendship and strong bonds..yes, yes..' And I go 'Playful!' because I am not PLAYFUL. Puppies are playful. And butterflies and sunny meadows with frolicking deer. I am NOT playful. I am STOIC and NOBLE and….IMPOSING. That's right.

So anyways, there I am, grumbling to this ratty old hat, telling it how STOIC I am, how I come from an old PURE-BLOOD family of UNTARNISHED REPUTATION, and the bloody hat, the bloody HAT goes,

'Gryffindor.'

That's it! Just, 'Gryffindor.' Cool as you like, no questions or anything. As if it hadn't seen my ENTIRE FAMILY IS SLYTHERIN AND THEY WILL MURDER ME IN MY SLEEP. The boys next morning will come looking for their roommate and see giant bloody stains and say "Hallo, weren't that Sirius Black just a moment ago?"

Stupid bloody hat.

So, here I am now, pondering my fate and trying not to look at this bloke sitting across from me with this old grimy book he keeps leafing through. I think he's getting the courage to speak! Aha, we shall soon have a name to record in your dusty innards. If he's not a sodding idiot of course. I suppose I might as well make the best of this, eh? Oh hell. I'm a Slytherin through and through, who am I kidding.


	2. September 12, 1970: Remus

**September 12, 197** **0**

 **Remus**

Last night was..well, you know, a moon and all. I've been feeling it's pull a bit more potently this past month, perhaps it's the stress of new surroundings..perhaps I'm even more aware of it simply because it's a new lie to new friends.

They enjoy my company, and it's really quite a miraculous thing. They don't seem to mind the awkwardeness- I'm well aware of the abysmal awkwardness that is me- and it's much more than _tolerance_ , and- well, and they seem to like me! I can't imagine why.

Of course, no one knows here, about the..problem, except Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. I will never, ever tell my friends- who knows if they'll figure it out. Honestly, if one stares long enough at the puzzle pieces, the conclusion is quite self-evident: it's just a matter of acknowledging the possibility. I know it's a school of Magic, but..honestly, _who acknowledges the possibility of a werewolf?_

I could be wrong.

But, truly, being with Sirius, James and Peter..it's been amazing. It's so easy, simple- they seem to just accept me. I'm eleven, but I know I must seem like I'm secretly forty- perhaps it's the wolf, perhaps it's the books- or maybe it's just a bizarre combination of the two. This is the first time I have lived in close contact with so many people, and- I love it, don't misunderstand me, but it does also make me uneasy. I can't exactly put my finger on why, because Dumbledore has set up an extremely secure place for my transformations to take place- or at least I like to think so, because it is literally just a shack on the outskirts of the nearest town- but I think it has something to do with the constant struggle to keep the wolf in its place. I know it seems silly, but as the moon waxes and wanes the wolfish impulses grow stronger and weaker. Sometimes it takes more of an effort to keep from lashing out, or keeping the impulses at bay. It's like keeping an animal on a leash.

It's funny, but since I'd gotten here, I hadn't given my problem much thought- which sounds ridiculous, considering I've just been deposited in a brand new place with shiny new rules to follow- but I had just, rather, _forgotten_ until last night. Maybe it's all the new people, I've just been trying to be sure of _me_ , just me, without the wolf, just _me_ trying to make friends. So far, so good, I suppose.

I am trying hard to match their boisterousness, although I am sure I am failing miserably! They do, however, more than tolerate my presence- Sirius seems to find my dry humor in excellent form, I can't imagine why. There are continual scuffles, not just friendly ones between Sirius and James, but also Sirius threw his first punch- he says, of the year, many more to come and all- yesterday. The chap on the receiving end is one Severus Snape, he's in Slytherin- and he is snide, and rude, and generally unpleasant-looking- I mean, he looks as if he's got a bit of very-smelly-what-have-you stuck under his generous nose at all times (Sirius says if Severus weren't around they'd have to make fun of _my_ nose, as its… largeness.. escapes notice only in Severus's wake- I'm not sure how I feel about this- it's not _that_ big-) but anyway, he looks like he's..not very nice. I haven't spoken to him myself, but Sirius and James have been trading insults with him from the first minute we stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds. There is something mulling beneath the surface, I think, that motivates the animosity between Severus, Sirius and James. When Severus is nearby, Sirius's face..changes. Mind you, Sirius is loads of fun, generally brilliant, always up for pulling a prank…cheerful. (He also told me that I was girl for writing in a journal- but I saw him _doing the same_ on our first day, so I suppose I will have to hold this over him for the rest of his life!) But anyway, when Severus comes round, his face darkens- I mean, _literally_ darkens, which I don't know if I've ever seen before- his face becomes…angry. Almost _hatefully_ angry. It's close to the expression I saw on him as he took off the Sorting Hat- I wouldn't want to be the target off his punches, let's put it that way. I feel a bit as if Peter and I are just along for the ride- in short, 'nothing personal' for us, other than a bit of House rivalry. Although he is a horribly smarmy git with a penchant for snide remarks and insults. I suppose every boy must have his arch-nemesis?

I can't be sure, because Sirius has yet to speak of his family (so far), and I don't think he would respond well to prodding- _too_ much prodding- but I think Sirius has such issue with Severus because he reminds him a little too closely of home. Just a theory, mind, I've not much to go on other than his behavior in the first two or three days of school. He was actually the first of us four I chuffed up the courage to talk to, because he seemed so- well, a bit miserable. And angry, but also mostly miserable. He brightened up considerably when I approached him though; I really think he just needed someone to talk to and take his mind off of whatever was bothering him. Anyhow, I think James has now completely expelled whatever it was, because Sirius is..more approachable now. Like a human being who will _not_ punch you in the face with very hard knuckles and a manic grin unless your initials are SS and you happen to have very greasy hair and a nose like a (larger) sailboat (than mine).

More on that abysmal shack: I reach it by tunnel, the entrance of which is blocked by a newly planted, rather violent- _very_ violent- willow. You have to prod a knot on its trunk with a long stick to make it freeze- otherwise it'll whomp you a good one right in the face and quite possibly break your ribs with one of its branches. I emerged from last night with only a few splinters in some..rather unforgiving places. Although they were maybe as big as my palm, of course. Ah well, there's always something.

I hate being a werewolf. There, I've said it- as if it could be any different- but it's just so horribly _painful_ every time, and really the worst of it is attempting to _not_ have the mind of a wolf, which I've yet to achieve. There are better ways to spend a night rather than throwing yourself against the walls of a shack out of sheer wolfish frustration.

I've been lying in the hospital wing writing this. Madam Pomfrey brought me breakfast- and chocolate. I think chocolate for breakfast…is a beautiful thing. It doesn't make the transformations worth it, but it's a small comfort to look forward to. Oh look, there's Sirius now- putting this away NOW before he grabs it and reads _everything_. Which would be Exceptionally Not Good.


	3. September 14, 1970: Peter

Peter

September 14, 1970

Mum gave me this journal right before I left, and told me to write in it every day. I haven't, because it's already the 14th, and it's been _busy_ , you know, and I wonder if she just wants me to write in it so she can read it when I'm home for the hols and make sure I haven't gotten up to anything.

But anyway that might be alright, because I haven't gotten up to anything so far. But I've got friends! They're amazing! Their names are James, Sirius, and Remus! I don't think I've ever had such good friends! I know it's only been two weeks, but I already _know_ , you know?

See, there's James- he's very exciting, and likes pranks, and Quidditch, which he's DEAD good at, and him and Sirius are maybe the coolest people I've ever met, and- and well, they're friends with me! They like me! Anyway, we're not really supposed to be flying yet or anything, because we hadn't taken the Introductory Flying course yet, or hadn't, anyway, but they both brought their brooms _anyway_ , and it's amazing what they can do! James actually shot all the way up in the air, and then PLUNGED down so quickly I thought he would fall off his broom! But he didn't, of course, and went by so quick that I fell over. Completely wicked. Wish Mum would've let me get a broom, but she says that if wizards were meant to fly we'd have grown wings. I'm not really sure that I could grow wings, or make wings, but I want to ask Professor McGonagall. But she scares me (she's very strict and doesn't smile at _all!)_ so maybe James will do it for me. But anyway I'm not sure if I would be much good at flying anyway because I think I might be better on the ground since I don't really like heights.

I actually thought Sirius was rather scary at first- and he really _was_ , too, like he wasn't happy at all to be put in Gryffindor. Which I guess makes sense because I think all the rest of his family is in Slytherin. But the first couple days I tried to stay away from him- well as much as I could, anyway, his bed is right next to mine- because he was giving everyone in our room these great dirty looks anytime one of us spoke, but then James socked him a good one in the jaw and Sirius got one in too and there were a lot of bad words for awhile and more punches and I didn't _really_ know what to do, so I just watched, and anyway it all ended quick enough, and Remus used a _Reparo_ charm to fix James's glasses. Oh, Remus: Remus likes books. I like him, and he knows a _lot_ of stuff, like spells and charms we haven't studied yet. AND he helps me with my homework, which is good because I'm miserable in Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Charms. And I don't think I'm so good with History of Magic, but I can't really tell either, because Professor Binns is a GHOST, which I'd never seen before, and he doesn't really seem to know we're there anyway. But he seems to like Remus, I think because he takes notes and seems to know quite a lot about Goblin Rebellions, which are much less interesting than they sound. I really wish I wasn't so bad at everything, though… Actually, I do like Herbology quite a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm not still bollocks at it- Mum never lets me keep plants at home anyway, because she says that _Dirt belongs outdoors, not scattered about my CLEAN house!_ But sometimes I bring dirt in the house on purpose. Just a little bit, and only in odd places where she'll only find it during the nightly scrub-down. It's worth the shrieks!

I'm just very glad to be at Hogwarts finally, since I've been dying to go for years, and now I have _friends_ that I can actually live with, it's SO much more fun than living at home with Mum! I used to wish Dad would come back and make Mum less mean, but I don't really remember if she was less mean with Dad around anyway. And I don't really remember Dad either, so I guess it doesn't really matter, or it can't change or anything already. Maybe he would've been mean too, and then there'd just be TWO mean people in the house- but I'm here, at Hogwarts, and it doesn't matter now! I've got _friends!_

But anyway, it's dinner time! And I'm VERY hungry, hope it's steak-and-kidney pie. The food here is REALLY good. Really really good, and I have fourth helpings of everything at every meal, but the plates keep on filling up so I just keep eating. I'm hungry. And there's James now, we'll go to down for dinner. I'm HUNGRY!


	4. September 27, 1970: James

September 27, 1970

James

I see her _every single day_ , and she absolutely loathes me. One day, though- fear not! One day we'll be MADLY in love, and have lots of sex and babies. Or, you know, so I expect.

Her name is Lily Evans, and I swear to you she is descended from the heavens (which is why our fate is written in the stars, hoho!). I am her love dumpling, if she would only have me! But, sadly, she'll have nothing to do with me. (Such is the life of a woeful love dumpling.)

I THINK I may have landed her with a rather bad impression of myself, but I was defending my HONOR, so there's really not much of an argument to it.

When we were on the train coming to school, I got my first glimpse of her in a compartment with one Severus Snape, as we have since learned he is called. Greasy-haired, big-nosed git he is.

So naturally, I see a fair lady alone in a compartment with a rather ugly chap and I, a dashing and strapping young lad of eleven, swoop in to rescue said lovely damsel.

As it turns out, she _wasn't_ in distress, and really didn't take well to being rescued. And apparently she's been friends with that Snape for years.. But anyway, I tried to introduce myself (I am your knight, fair lady, valiant and courageous! Please relocate your arse, Sir Big-nose, that I may better view the lady), Snape didn't take it at all well. Actually, she didn't either- all these long and well-put insults came rolling out of her mouth at an impressive speed- and it might have been intimidating but instead it was just kind of _cute,_ which I mentioned and then she looked like she would pop. And I really didn't want her to _pop_ , you know, because it would be an awful mess and a terrible waste of Lily Evans.

Anyway, it went rather downhill from there- Snape tried to step in, but though he may have a barbed tongue, I have a FIST OF STEEL, and popped him one in his overly-large beak of a nose before departing amidst the chorus of loathing emanating from both of them. Oh the pain, to see that beautiful face squawk at me!

Yes, it grieves me to say, I fear she detests me. But she's the fieriest girl I ever met, and I believe she even tried to hex me as I dashed out, although I'm not sure because nothing really happened. Probably a good thing, I have a feeling I don't want to be on the receiving end of her hexes.

In Other News: we've got a good sort, our Gryffindor first years. Sirius and I are endeavoring to make Snape's time as miserable as we possibly can, which may be something we excel at more than Transfiguration (which, by the by, I'm bloody well spot-on at. McGonagall LOVES me, but I really think that such passion should be shared between her and the likes of Mssr. Sirius le Noir, who pines for her).

Don't see what Evans sees in him, anyhow. Snape, I mean. He's got this awfully sarcastic way of speaking, all haughty and scathing and altogether the definition of a pompous bloody arse-hole. It's altogether unnerving. (Is what it is.) Nasty git. Even the rest of the Slytherins seem to have a problem with him- not that the lot of them are much better. Actually, a lot of them are related to Sirius..he must be a complete freak in his family, having such a WONDERFULLY pleasing temperament as he's got.

Honestly, it's completely ridiculous, this thing with Evans- it's stupid, is what it is. And maybe a little because it's funny, but- she won't even look at me, she HATES me. And, you know- _why?_ I mean, really- what did I do that's so terrible, anyway, how can she hate ME and go around with that- that giant nose? Maybe she'll be impressed by my uncannily awe-inspiring Quidditch skills. Or my bulging biceps, or my rakishly wind-swept hair. 'Course it doesn't help that I'm not actually allowed to try for the house team till second year, which leaves my hair utterly UN-wind-swept and sadly messy, and my biceps are rather worryingly knobbly. She'll have to come round soon though, won't she? She can't ignore me forever.

Especially since we plan to plant a dung bomb in Snape's soup. Or cake, or whatever happens to be at hand tomorrow for dinner. It'll be so marvelous that she'll have to at least look at me, with those great green oogly eyes of hers.

Potters NEVER give up, and never surrender! (I just thought of that, isn't that a rather brilliant little one-liner for myself!) Except, of course, for our large hearts which we would so gladly lay at the feet of swooningly beautiful buxom lasses.

Like Evans.

Though she's not quite the buxom sort, more's the pity. AH WELL, I shall just have to wait and see what puberty holds! I hope I'm not secretly one of those pimply, gangly blokes that the springtime of youth holds the key to. That would be more than most unfortunate.

I must now plan with Sirius how to manage getting a dung bomb into Slytherin/Snape's dinner unnoticed. The answer is probably just _lobbing_ it across the Hall, and damned with the consequences, I say! A worthy way to usher in our first detention, anyway. Results later!


	5. December 26, 1970: From Sirius to James

**December 26, 1970**

James-

I believe I will go absolutely berserk if I have to stay in this wretched bloody house a single day longer. Christmas, as I recall, is SUPPOSED to be all about goodwill and cheer- and of course mistletoe. And I'm sure there's just loads, LOADS of mistletoe lying about at school now. We could be at a regular snog-fest, but NOOO instead I am the unfortunate upholder of all things BLACK, stuck in the BLACK family house. Sometimes I wish Regulus was the older one so I wouldn't have to put up with this indescribable madness!

Jamesie-boy, dear old pal, old chum, best friendsiekins a boy could ask for, Jamesie, Jamesie-James- I am BEGGING you- could I come for the New Year? I just _can't_ take my family- or this horrible old house, I swear it has a mind of its own- ANY BLOODY LONGER. Father's barely let two words out of his mouth in my direction- not that I care much, he's a bit of a nutcracker (see! Christmas Spirit!) - and Mother's only words are to CONSTANTLY allude to the fact that her firstborn son is an Utter Failure to the House of Black. Actually, _allude_ is a bit of an understatement, I think she thinks I'm getting a bit _thick_ in the head, that maybe Gryffindor's spawn has brain-washed me and now I'm a third-degree-twit, _generally_ disagreeable to all things Slytherin. Anyway, she's put up a charm on my door so it now -I wish I could write squeaks, but sadly, it just WHINES in this nastily oozy voice 'utter failure to the House of Black' every time you open it. But the bright side is you can get it to sing a bit to you if you swing it back and forth a couple times and it goes 'U-u-u-tter-utter failure-utter failure- u-u-utter-utter failure'.

I think it's the Christmas present Regulus always wanted but never got..me being on the outs, that is,..he's been running around on Dearest Mummy's heels with this new 'look' I suppose he thinks must be very manly- a kind of heightening and squinting of his little eyes, and he looks down his overly long and very pointy nose at me like I'm this tiny helpless mote of dust that screeches ' _Hell_ _llllp Mon Dieu don't step on me!_ '

I digress.

I know, ruddy bollocks to the lot of them and all, but there's only so much HELL one's nerves can take. And it's _Christmas!_ It's terribly tragic. The whole lot of them (I mean the whole CLAN, the cousins have planted their bums here as well, more's the pity- well not so much Andromeda I like her) were here yesterday, all the men walking with those arse-pompous walks of theirs- you know, the-I-really- _should_ -be-Minister-of-Magic-if-any-of-you-had-the-slightest-inkling-what's-good-for-you-although-you-might-end-up-DEAD walk. And the hall is only so wide, you know, and they line themselves up ridiculously, so they end up knocking themselves into the elf heads and then puffing their chests with the indignity of it all. Ah, I see I've forgotten to mention our most Noble family tradition- did I mention the family has an ancient habit of lopping off our house-elve's heads when they get too decrepit to perform their chores? Oh yes. The Moste Ancient and Pure House of Black. Anyway, not one of them (besides Andromeda) has spared a glance to the lowly Gryffindor insect. Not that I'm exactly craving their company, by the by, I've mostly been up in my room dreaming up the buxom lass who will have me. Or a motorbike. Am I horribly stereotypical?

Well now that that's settled!

But seriously, James, I don't understand how I've managed to be born into possibly the largest family of morons on the face of the Earth. How is it possible? Was I so evil in past lives? Did I slap a monk? Am I so completely mental, or doesn't it seem even the _slightest_ bit odd to you? It's not even as if they're, you know, _bumbling_ idiots or anything- I'm honestly beginning to think they're downright _evil._ And, frankly, that really scares me. If I didn't have the very trademark cheekbones (yes, I said it,)- and you know, eyebrows and hair and every genealogical marker etc. etc. of the family…I would entertain the suspicion of some maudlin switched-at-birth plot. Of course, one can always dream!

It's funny, because before I got to Hogwarts, I always knew something was a bit _off_ between me and the rest of the family. I guess I just had no one to compare them to, other than the Malfoys and my cousins. It was just me and Regulus! And I always thought Lucius was a bit of a prat when I was a kid- complete understatement, I am aware. But then I got sorted into Gryffindor, by some great stroke of luck, and- lo and behold, I find there are an ENORMOUS amount of normal, NICE people that don't lop off their servant's heads and mount them in the entrance hall. Fancy that! And my family is INSANE. And they go on about being Pure-bloods ALL THE TIME- blimey, they probably have me all set up with one of my cousins already just to keep the bloodline NICE AND PURE. JAMES I'M GOING BONKERS. LET ME INTO YOUR NICE NORMAL HOUSE! PLEASE! I'LL BE YOUR MAN-SLAVE FOREVER. Maybe not forever but A REALLY LONG TIME I'LL EVEN OIL YOUR CHEST SO EVANS GOES INTO CONVULSIONS OF LONGING.

So, cheerio, say yes dear chap! Happy Christmas and all that drivel and say YES!

Sirius


	6. April 29, 1971: Making Snivellus

**Making Snivellus**

 **April 29, 1971**

"Oi, Snape! Couldn't see past your nose?!" Sirius shouts.

"Evidently not," James wheezes, snorting with laughter.

Severus is sprawled on the grass, scuffed shoes tearing through the hem of his shabby robes. He sits up, clumsily disentangling himself from his clothes and bags, nursing private hurts and silent fury. The four boys lying in the grass are howling in their laughter, that damnable Pettigrew almost convulsing. _I hope he chokes,_ Severus thinks. He stands up and furiously collects his things, muttering a " _Reparo_." and fixing his robes with a flick of his wand. He draws himself up to what he considers his most formidable height, shoots a scathing look over his shoulder, and begins to stalk away. He sees excessive movement from the corner of his eye- he knows it's coming, and braces- that slight squaring of shoulders-

" _Nodemus maximus!_ " James shouts, hurling the charm at Snape's feet- and the laces of his shoes spring together into a knot of wondrous proportions. James crows his elation as Severus is flung yet again onto his face in the grass, books, ink and quills flying with him in all directions. "You are a _genius!"_ Sirius roars at James, while Peter pounds him on the back. Remus laughs, but you can see the crook to the corners of his lips, where the battle of empathy and friendship is warring.

Severus struggles fruitlessly with his laces- _abominable, filthy laces..!-_ and they continue to swell to the size of a small bludger. His nails are too long, and they scrabble against the strings. Seething in frustration, he wrenches off his shoes violently, hurling them to the ground. His big toe winks at him through the hole in his threadbare socks, and he squeezes his eyes shut in fury. He turns to Potter and those…idiots, searching frantically for a proper insult- "You're not worth the spittle I could throw in your face, Potter." he says stonily. _Stupid, stupid!-_ and storms across the grounds towards the lake, leaving his shoes behind. _A regretful loss,_ as he only has the one pair.

 ****SB**JP**SS**PP**RL****

Dinner settles noisily across the Great Hall, as the throngs of students dig into mounds of waiting mashed potatoes and beef stew. James sits, surrounded by his group of friends, who are laughing uproariously at one of Frank Longbottom's well-timed jokes. He picks at his food morosely, pushing the potatoes round his plate until they are spread uniformly across it.

Evans is seated across the hall at the far end of the Slytherin table, next to Snape. She had shot him one stunningly disdainful glance, before sweeping past him and utterly ruining dinner. James glares at the back of her stupid red pigtails over the rim of his pumpkin juice. "Dunno what she sees in him," he mumbles into his goblet. Sirius's hand swatting the back of his head causes him to spit his mouthful back into the goblet, and he stares morosely at it, little bits of celery now dotting the surface. "What's that, Jamesie? Eh? Did Evans hurt your feelings, sitting with dear Snapie?" Sirius fairly shouts at him.

"What? No!" James glares at Sirius, who has adopted an angelic grin.

"Ah, young love," Sirius sighs, "It's a beautiful thing, isn't it, Remus?

"It most certainly is." Remus says matter of factly.

"Who's in love?" asks Peter.

James pushes himself back noisily from the table and grabs his bag. "I'm going to the library. I'll see you in the common room..later, have that Charms essay.. and I am _not_ in love. Lily is an _idiot_."

"Ah, _Lily_ , is it?" Sirius calls after him as he slouches from the Hall. _Bloody morons, the lot of them.._

 ****JP**LE**SS**RL**PP****

An owl swoops into the hall, landing brusquely next to Lily. It looks disgustedly at the bits of food that have evaded their plates and landed on the table- then thinks better of it and snatches a bit of bread, dragging its message through a spot of gravy.

"Oh look, Sev, you've an owl," Lily says, plucking the bedraggled thing out of her dinner and plunking it down between them. It squawks indignantly, and Severus gently unties the message from its foot. He unfurls it while Lily chatters on, feeding the somewhat appeased bird scraps of her dinner roll.

"And _then_ McGonagall told him that if he kept it up, he could forget about- "and she stops, because Severus's lips have parted slightly, and he's already had a rather bad day, and his long fingers have creased the parchment just a little too much. And before she can even think, he's dropped the scroll onto the table, and dashed out of the hall, hand to his mouth.

"Sev- !" she calls after him- but he's already gone. Lily grabs the message- she's not given much to propriety- and takes in the tidy print:

 _Severus-_

 _Your mother died last night. I've used her owl to tell you. The funeral is tomorrow. I found her in the bath._

It wasn't signed. The writing was not shaky.

Her head whirls in understanding. She doesn't know what to do- so the letter is crumpled in her fist and shoved into a pocket, bags are hastily collected, and she dashes out after Severus.

 ****LE**SS****

"Wonder what's all the fuss?" Remus muses mildly at the Gryffindor table, watching Lily's braids fly out after her as she runs clumsily through the Hall, bags tailing after her. Sirius turns to watch, munching thoughtfully on a much-too-large roll. "Dunno," he chews, and suddenly grins. "Maybe she's gone mad for Jamesie, eh?"

"Don't be daft, Snape took off just a minute ago and they were sitting together." Remus says.

"Mmf, Evans has terrible taste. Big-nosed git."

"You know, about that, wasn't it a bit much this afternoon? What with the Knot Of Enormous Proportions and all. Not much in the vein of subtlety, is it?"

"I thought it was funny!" Peter exclaims. He's got a dribble of stew down the front of his robes, and his lips are stained with pumpkin juice, and it's really a rather wretched sight to behold. Remus wrinkles his nose slightly and dabs politely at the corners of his mouth with his napkin, as if by doing so it will convince Peter that table manners are a True and Real thing. The point, unfortunately, does not carry.

"He deserved it," Sirius says conversationally, reaching across and deftly mopping a large splotch from Peter's nose with a napkin, Peter going stock-still as if this is a well-rehearsed move. "Anyway. He's Slytherin! And a greasy one to boot." The lines of his face are growing closer, more pinched. Remus knows a _mood_ is brewing, and being Remus, decides to ignore it.

"Right. Well, I'm off then, need to look something up in the library. Perhaps I'll spy a Potter up there that I might be able to cure of miserliness."

"Evans!" Sirius bursts out, his brows beginning to run and bump towards each other- "Who needs girls _anyway!_ Or _Slytherins!_ " And at this he glares at the stew, determinedly doling himself a towering portion. He notices, and sighs, "Pete, help me eat this. I know you can work wonders with that fork."

Remus leaves, catching a glimpse of the two boys determinedly battling their way through slightly hazardous-looking piles of stew and mash.

 ****SB**RL**PP****

James mopes around the edges of the library, brushing the spines of dusty books with the tips of his fingers. It's alright, really, the library- so long as Madam Pince isn't breathing down your neck. _Mad old bat_ , he thinks- but at least she seems to have disappeared as well. He wanders down the aisles, making his way towards the Charms section- there actually _is_ a rather unfortunate essay due, if he can only force himself to do it- and besides, it's really rather stupid, this hopeless crush on Evans, and who _needs_ red pigtails, or _freckles_ , or the way she scrunches up her face in distaste when she seems him _anyway_. _Pathetic_ , he thinks, because he is 12, and he has no muscles, and he won't be able to try out for the Quidditch team until next year. _Best leave it, Potter._

And the door to the library slams open, a white and trembling Snape stumbling in, with Evans tailing behind him, dragging two bags behind her. James shrinks into the shadows, crouching behind one of the lower shelves. He's not sure _why_ he does it, but his legs seem to have bent, and there he is, peering over the books and listening with all his might.

Snape stops short, his battered breathing filling the spaces of the room, bracing himself against one of the closer shelves. Lily drops the bags in a heap by her feet, and approaches, her hand stretched tentatively towards him, questioning.

"Severus?….Sev?" she says cautiously, taking another step forward and lowering her hand. "I read your letter," she says apologetically. The silence stretches abominably while Severus stares at her, the blanket of disbelief and not _quite_ knowing what to do with all his appendages settling over him. Blooming insecurity tints the backs of his eyes, greys and blues swirling in anxiety.

"I"m so sorry, Sev," Lily whispers, wrapping her skinny arms around him as he stiffens, all uncomfortable angles and slightly sweaty palms, awkwardly folding himself into her tight embrace. _That's nice,_ Severus thinks, and tentatively pats her on the back. He hears her nose sniffling, feels the dampness, and pulls back slightly- "Are you dripping on my robes?"

She pulls back quickly- "S-sorry- "

"No, no, it's alright- "

But she's already out of his arms, staring concernedly at him. The silence resumes as they start at each other, awkwardly. Fingers flex and straighten reflexively, bits of pigtail are twisted around thumbs. There are tear tracks mingling with the freckles on her face.

"Um," Severus flounders, "Um, that was nice." _Stupid, stupid!_ Because his mother is dead, _dead!_ And he can't quite seem to grasp it, like it's something in a fairy tale- something not true, but horribly _real_ at the same time, and he doesn't know how to feel, or what to do. She was his mother- _is_ his mother- and he loved her, but was it _real?_

Lily smiles at him, her green eyes sparkling with tears. "Yes, that was, wasn't it? That's what friends are for.." she trails off. "I'm so sorry…"

"Could we- um, could we- you know- could you hug me again?" Severus blurts out. _STUPID stupidstupidstupid moronic idiot stupidstupidstupidSTUPID!_

But then that lovely freckled nose is once again dripping all over his sleeves and he can care less about the soiled fabric or the fact that he's only _got_ the two pairs of robes and really can't afford to get snot all over one of them because the other one's got mud all over it from when he tripped yesterday and-

"It'll be ok, Sev," she whispers in his ear.

 ****JP**LE**SS****

James's brain is exploding violently. Or, it feels something like it because _EVANS_ is hugging _SNAPE_ and they're _ENJOYING_ it and _Fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole..!_ And he can just hear Sirius in his head, _Awfully big words for a wee Potter eh, Jamesie?_

So, it comes as a surprise when a particularly friendly mote of dust becomes chummy with the insides of his nostrils and, whilst their amicable conversation ensues, he blows his afore-mentioned exploding brains out through his nose.

 _AAAAAACCCChhhhhooooooo…._

The sneeze dwindles into what should have been silence, but instead is the sound of Severus violently shoving Lily backwards into a bookshelf, and the resonance of heavy encyclopedias (and Lily) falling to the ground. _Quite the reflexes, you idiot,_ as he stands in horror and dust. "I'm so sorry! Lily! I was so- so startled, are you alright?"

He jumps forward to help her up, to apologize, again, and again, and _again…..Stupid, stupid!_

But someone is already there, hand outstretched, hauling her to her feet. _Potter_. He opens his mouth to ask-

"What are _you_ doing here?" - but is beaten to the point by Lily. Her voice is brittle and sharp, tears still bright in her eyes. She looks down, a muttered "Thanks," escaping her lips.

 ****JP**SS**LE****

"What. Did you do. To her." It's more menacing than James intended, but his voice is trembling, and he is _furious,_ and- "You _PUSHED_ her!" He shouts at Snape, that smug bastard, that _bastard_ -

"None of your business, Potter! It was an accident-"

"NO! No, I saw, and you- you _pushed_ her! Who the bloody hell-"

"Just _leave_ , _I_ was here with Lily, _NOT_ you- "

"Make me, _Snivellus._ " James sneers, groping in his back pocket for his wand-

But Snape's wand is already gripped in his fist, his arm reeling backwards, mouth filling with air-

"Severus, no!" Lily yells, lurching forward-

" _STUPE-"_

" _EXPELLIARMUS!"_ A fourth voice bellows, as a jet of red light hits Snape in his stomach, catapulting him into a shelf, where the books come plummeting down.

 ****JP**SS**LE**RL****

"Oh, bugger, I think he's unconscious…" Remus dashes from the shadows, grasping both sides of the teetering shelf, dodging a heavy volume that threatens to clobber his head. It lands instead on Snape's ankle, adding a bruise to his already formidable collection. The shelf shudders upright, leaving Remus trembling with the effort.

The silence that holds is a particularly nasty one. Somebody's got to break it, Remus thinks, as he kneels down and gently lifts Severus's eyelid. Lily is on her knees next to him, pushing back the lank hair on his forehead. He clears his throat hesitantly, looking at James. "He'll, he'll be alright, I think, just knocked out..but we ought to bring him to the hospital wing…"

" _I'll_ bring him to the hospital wing, _you_ knocked him out." Lily points out, dashing a tear from her eye before grabbing Severus by the wrists and beginning to drag him slowly out of the library.

"Um…" Remus says, because this is a _bad_ situation, and he's not good in _bad_ situations, and somehow he can't shake the feeling that _Maybe this is my fault..?_ So he asks, "What just happened?" Because it seems the right thing to say.

Lily straightens, and eyes James- fills her lungs with air and screams, "His mother just _died_ , you enormous, sodding, _IDIOT!"_

Then she flips her rumpled pigtails over her shoulders, grabs Severus's wrists, and continues her slow way out of the library. They look ridiculous.

James says, "Oh."

"Go to hell, Potter," she spits back over her shoulder, before disappearing through the doors, swinging back and forth on their creaking hinges.

"…Maybe we ought to help them..?" Remus muses because, really, they ought to, because it's _his fault-_

James looks at him helplessly. "But what did I do? I thought I was helping.." He sinks slowly into a crouch, picking at his ragged trainers.

Remus is torn. "Look, I really ought to..to help them.." He looks thoughtfully at James. He feels bad, he really does- "I.. I'll be right back, just- "

But James's face has crumpled into the expression of a particularly pitiful puppy. Remus closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. _Deep breaths_ , he thinks, and sighs. He reaches out a hand to James, who grasps it reluctantly and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Come on, James. Let's go back."

"Alright," he says noncommittally, rubbing a scuff mark into the neatly polished floor.

 ****RL**LE**SS**JP****

They are halfway back to the common room before James opens his mouth again.

"But I'll tell you what, though," he says, his face brightening a bit.

"What?"

"Isn't Snivellus a beyond brilliant nickname?"


	7. July, 1971: Summer Letters

**Summer Letters**

 **July 15, 1971**

Dear Sirius,

How has your summer been? Mine has been very quiet thus far, without you lot blowing things up at the slightest hint of a lull.

 _Remus pauses, scratching his chin with the end of his quill. It all seems a bit unreal, sitting at his neat desk at home, and he wonders if he was ever at Hogwarts at all, or maybe it was just a rather fantastic dream. He doesn't know quite what to write, and, not for the first time, wonders why James and Sirius and Peter are friends with him at all._

I've been reading quite a lot, and am on my third book already. The one I am reading is called "The Metamorphosis", by Kafka. Do you know Kafka? The book is very short, I'm sure you could read it very quickly, and I think you'd really like it. Do you know much Muggle writing? This one's about a man who wakes up one day and seems to have turned into a large insect. It twists me all up inside, and makes me feel very anxious. I wonder if Kafka knew anything about animagi, or, you know, if it is all just 'metaphorical'.

 _He puts his head down on the paper and bangs it a couple times. He knows he's a little too grown up, a little too proper and thoughtful. He doesn't know what else to write._

 _He determinedly pushes himself up to continue the letter, and notices that 'metaphorical' has gone blotchy. He rubs at it absent-mindedly, and decides he probably has a very large ink stain on his nose._

I've also finished all my homework already. Perhaps it's a little _too_ quiet here, would you like to visit? Mum has decided to teach me to cook- the Muggle way- and I've had to follow her around the kitchen covered in flour and potato peels, and she tells me to whisk this and mash that and I, being the Good Son, am loathe to disappoint.

But secretly I am bored. _Bored_. I don't know what to do with myself without having you lot to talk out of exceptionally bad ideas; when I am not reading it does begin to get tedious.

Write back when you have a moment, I'm sure you've been doing much more exciting things than myself.

Remus

 _There, that's done it, he thinks._

 _He looks over the letter. It is very, very boring. Except the Kafka bit. Maybe. He is apprehensive about sending it at all, but he misses his friends desperately, and doesn't want them to forget he exists. He screws his eyes shut, ruffles his hands vigorously through his hair (probably depositing more ink), and decides To Hell With It. The parchment is rolled up quickly, sealed neatly, and given to Archimedes for prompt delivery._

 ****RL**SB**JP**PP****

 **July 17, 1971**

Remus-

What do you think of 'Remy', eh? Think we ought to change it? Remus is a bit STILTED, isn't it? Have you got an enormous pole up your arse? Or maybe just a miniature one, but what in MERLIN'S NAME are you doing using words like METAPHORICAL and LOATHE for while on HOLIDAY? It's enough to sicken!

But never mind that, it is obvious to me that James and me (James and me? James and I? I can never remember) will just have to work harder to rub off on you next term. We will probably have to involve you in many, many more Pranks of Dazzling Proportions. They will be legend, and you'll find yourself UTTERLY CHANGED as a result, and your poor, sad mum will cry her eyeballs out at the complete destruction of her Good Son. Eh? EH?

I'm having the sodding time of my LIFE locked up here in this abominable old house- we've been having TOO MANY dinner parties, or something of that sort- where I'm stuffed into DRESS ROBES and meant to be polite and charming and the Perfect Wee Gentleman, and offer my arm to all sorts of Aunts of varying degrees of absolute horror. They're not the sort that will pinch your cheeks and leave big lipstick smooches, they're the sort that ask you "AND NOW YOUNG MAN, WHICH COUSIN DO _YOU_ INTEND TO MARRY?" And then they _cackle_.

I'm telling you, Remus, whatever sort of holiday you're having, _mine is worse_. Epically, a thousand times a million millions, _worse._ Regulus is the biggest sodding idiot in the world, he actually LIKES the simpering around. And I think he's got a bit of a crush on Bellatrix, it's DISGUSTING. (I did manage to spill pumpkin juice down the back of her robes, she made the most pleasing little shriek that would've put a banshee to shame- and Regulus, for some reason, thinks there's been a ghoul haunting his room for the last month, I can't imagine why because I most certainly do not hide in his wardrobe at odd hours of the night.)

Anyway- I'll be escaping to James's very soon- I'm honestly amazed I was allowed, but I suppose the Potter's are another VERY OLD and Pure-blood family so it is Permissible. But we will come to rescue you from certain dusty death by books, fair Remus, never fear!

Signed,

Sir Sirius Black, Bent on Delivering the Moste Delightful Remus Into the Escapades of-

Oh sod it, we'll see you soon!

 ****RL**SB**JP**PP****

 _Remus rips open the letter, none too carefully. "Ridiculous",_ _he mutters to himself, but he is much too excited. He scans the letter quickly, his face breaking into a grin. Hurriedly he pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment, and scrawls:_

 **July 18, 1971**

Sirius-

Read carefully, because this will be my attempt to, as you so delicately put it, 'remove the enormous pole from my arse'.

ARE YOU REALLY COMING? COME QUICKLY! COME SOON! I AM BORED! I AM SORRY YOU'VE HAD A TERRIBLE AWFUL DREADFUL HOLIDAY. DO NOT CALL ME REMY. REMY BRINGS TO MIND CORPULENT MUSTACHIOED FRENCH PAINTERS. PERHAPS WE SHOULD CALL YOU SIRI, IT HAS A RATHER PLEASANT RING. TELL JAMES HULLO FROM ME. PLEASE DO NOT BLOW UP ANYTHING VITAL. PLEASE DO NOT BLOW UP JAMES' HOUSE. PLEASE DO NOT BRING DUNG BOMBS TO MY HOUSE OR ANY OTHER TOOL OF MISCHIEF. MUMMY WILL BE PUT OFF. I AM VERY EXCITED THAT YOU ARE COMING, WILL PETER COME TOO? I PROMISE NOT TO TALK ABOUT HOMEWORK BUT HERE IS A COPY OF METAMORPHOSIS BECAUSE IT IS VERY GOOD AND I THINK YOU SHOULD READ IT.

Oh bother I suppose I can't keep it up as long as I thought- but it was a fair try, wasn't it? Did you like my capitalization? Or total lack of grammar?

I thought so.

Expecting your Very Imminent Arrival. Please do hurry.

Courteously, Cordially, and Very Boredly,

Remus

P.S. Did you notice that rhymed? Perhaps I should become a poet.

P.P.S. By the way, it is 'James and I'. It is always 'James and I', or 'Remus and I', or 'Dumbledore and I'. 'We' are always more important than 'You', which is something you ought to remember, as it will most certainly help you in any future grammatical pickles you might find yourself in.

 _Remus reads the letter over, gives a whoosh of breath from his nose, smirks, and rolls it up. He reaches for Metamorphosis- it is sitting neatly packaged at the corner of the desk- and ties both scroll and book to Archimedes' waiting foot. The owl looks mournfully at him and, feeling just the slightest bit sorry for the bird, Remus finds him an owl treat before crossing to the window and promptly hurling Archimedes out. An indignant screech is heard, but Remus stands with a hand at the window frame, watching as the owl is soon lost to the ever-fading light._


	8. September 1, 1971: Back to Hogwarts

**September 1, 1971: Back to Hogwarts**

Peter is awakened by his mother's screech. He pretends not to hear it, rolls over, and stuffs his head under the pillow in an attempt to muffle the obscenely shrill voice. It's getting closer.

The door bangs open, and there she is, in all her frilled-apron glory, poking at his ribs with her wand. _Nngfh,_ he moans. He hates being awake, and he hates even more being _rudely_ awakened. His ears prick at the words " _Late..!_ …socks… _King's Cross!_ " and he remembers. He opens one eye blearily, and watches his mother jabbing her wand at the mess of clothes scattered across the room.

"It's alright, Mum," he yawns, sitting up and stretching, "I've already packed."

She turns slowly on the spot, eyeing him. He knows that Look. That Look is the harbinger of earsplitting screeches and the odd thrown object. He swallows, and tastes last night's dinner- _turnips._ He takes a moment to note how he _hates turnips._

"Um, you see," - her ire is growing more palpable by the second, the sad yellow sock she clutches is wriggling in a desperate attempt to escape- "I, I packed, but then, um, but then I couldn't remember if I'd packed my History of Magic text and, and, well and I had to look for it and then, um, then I found it. And then I was tired, so,I went to sleep." he finishes lamely. He really _had_ meant to get up early, and to repack everything, but somehow, it just decided not to happen.

He knows he's in for it now. Her eyes are screwing up with rage, and her thin painted lips are stretching in either direction like they'll turn into some sort of very large monster and eat him. Peter thinks about this for a moment, and then wonders what's for breakfast while the sheer volume of his mother's voice breaks over him like a wave.

 _It's a good thing,_ he thinks, _that I'm going back to Hogwarts today._

 ****PP**JP**SB**RL****

 _Wet_ , James thinks. _It is Overly Wet, which is odd, because I don't recall being in the bath._

There are scuffling sounds near his ear. He doesn't want to be awake, not just yet, but the sounds and the Wet are hauling his consciousness to the forefront of his mind much faster than he can conjure up images of a cooing Evans- few and far between as they are. Suddenly there is more Wet. _Much_ more Wet _. Much too much_ more _Wet_. His eyes shock open as he is doused with an entire pan of water, held dripping over his soaked bed by a beaming Sirius Black.

"Wakie Wakie!" Sirius shouts, before dropping the pan with a _CLANG_ that would wake the dead, and launching himself full force into James's stomach. James lets out a squawk and a _whoosh_ of lost air.

"Aren't you _excited?_ Don't want to be LATEdo we? TIME FOR SCHOOL! Don't want to FORGET anything do we!"

"Merlin's wooly knickers, Sirius, get OFF me, we've got plenty of time- I was _sleeping-"_

"Now you're not! C'mon, c'mon, I think I smell bacon-"

"Sirius, I'm _soaking-!"_

Sirius holds up a towel daintily, pinched between two fingers. "Would you like me to do the honors?" He leers at James, all flashing white teeth and wretched grace. _This_ , _this is my best friend,_ James thinks. _He is Disgusting._

"You are Disgusting." he says out loud. "Ugh, Sirius my bed is a bloody lake!"

"Yes, I am rather good at that. You should ask Regulus about the Ocean of '68, I'm sure he'd be more than obliged to tell you." Sirius is bouncing on the balls of his feet. His trunk, across the room, is, surprisingly, packed. His broom is perched neatly on top, and he is fully dressed.

James picks his way out of his bed, stripping off his pajamas into a sad mess on the floor before snatching the wilting towel out of Sirius's grasp. "Why are you so excited anyway?"

" _Hogwarts-!"_

"Yes, yes, I know, but, homework! Think of the tragedy! Gone are the naked days of summer, the sunny frolicks, the private wanks and all that!"

Sirius looks at him with mournful eyes. "But we haven't seen Remus in _ages,_ and, come on, you haven't seen _Evans_ in ages, or Peter, come to think, or _McGoogles,_ and my heart _pines_ for her scrupulous discipline-"

"You are disgusting."

"I _crave_ the gamely insults, the _enchanting_ way in which she twirls her wand, one hand clutched to heaving bosom- "

"Lalalalala!" James shouts, fingers in ears, towel forgotten-

"Oh how I _ache_ for the meticulous art of Transfiguration, the art of arts which the Angelic McGoogles fosters in my tormented heart- "

James tackles him.

 ****PP**JP**SB**RL****

Downstairs, Euphemia Potter is drinking a cup of tea. The wireless is running, rolling out violin music that sounds as if it's trapped in time. It's a lovely morning, her husband is thoughtfully making breakfast, and the boys have yet to come downstairs. The air is still calm. _What a lovely thing a cup of tea is_ , she thinks, and sips deeply.

 _THUD._

She puts down the cup, carefully, on its saucer. She sighs, rolls her neck until the bones _crack_ in the sweet air of fading summer, and prepares for the onslaught. She'll miss her dear boy, she knows, when James is gone for school- and she does wonder what he gets up to there- but two 12 year old boys for the last weeks have been a wonderful headache and handful. She smiles sadly, and her heart aches with the anticipation of missing a piece of the puzzle.

"Mia, do you know where that saucepan has got to? The large one?" Her husband asks, poking his head round the corner of the kitchen.

 _CLANG THUD AUGH CLANG THWACK TAKE THAT THUD WANKER JAMES THUD SIRIUS CLANG SODDING MERLIN'S BLOODY NGAUUGH THUD_

"Language, children!" Euphemia calls, and returns to her tea.

 ****PP**JP**SB**RL****

Remus looks at the clock across the room. It is 5:02 A.M.

He has pushed his trunk as close to the doorway as he can manage, and is now sitting on it, cross-legged, jangling his ankles in nervous accompaniment to the Mozart running through his head.

He looks at the clock. 5:05. _Toast_ , he thinks, and goes to make himself some toast.

 _Rustle. Snick. Pop. Scritch. Munch, munch, munch._

He carefully dusts himself of any remaining crumbs, walks to the sink, rinses the dish where the toast was laid, and returns it to the cupboard.

He sits on the trunk, and looks at the clock.

5:13.

His nerves are stretched to the breaking point with anticipation, and he is considering waking his parents and insisting they either bring him to King's Cross early, or induce sleep- how, he doesn't want to know- until 11:00 when he is already aboard the Hogwarts Express.

He groans lustily, and buries his head in his hands. _Book. Read_. he thinks- but it's no use, the words won't speak to him, won't come alive and envelope him in that blissful limbo. He snaps the volume shut. He is _betrayed_ by his book, and it is a sad and rare thing.

He looks at the clock.

5:58.

 _That altogether bastard of a clock._ He is furious at it, and wants to shake it, and maybe smash it over his knee, or maybe into the piano to create a new type of music. But he doesn't, because that would be mad and he doesn't do that sort of thing, _but maybe James and Sirius would,_ he thinks. He looks at the clock.

Underneath the clock is a liquor cabinet.

 ****PP**JP**SB**RL****

As in all things, Remus Lupin is Methodical. He has taken every variety of liquor, both Muggle and Wizarding, out of the cabinet, and lined them up on the coffee table. He has agonized over the choice of whiskey glass or shot glass, wine glass or beer mug. He decides on the whiskey glass. He's seen his father use this very glass enough times, and surmises this must be the One.

There is Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, sandwiched between a bottle of Drambuie and Single Malt Scotch. There is the bottle of deep purple Cassis Liqueur, next to a gleaming decanter of Cranberry Vodka and the dark green of a Sherry bottle. And, inexplicably, a small bottle of Sake peeks at him from the end of the line.

He doesn't know a thing about liquor, but he reads the labels carefully, dutifully, and wonders if this is as formidable collection as he is inclined to believe. _How do they choose..?_ And the real question: _To drink, or not to drink?_

 _THAT is the question._

He notes that he is not pregnant, and therefore it can'tbe _too_ bad for him.

He looks at the clock.

6:07.

He grasps the bottle of Single Malt Scotch by the neck of the bottle, and pours to the brim of the glass. He does not pause to sniff it- he hasn't the faintest idea what to expect, but assumes it can't be worse than the cough syrup his mother sometimes forces down his throat. He brings it to his lips and takes a large gulp.

He is wrong.

He is very, _very_ wrong.

Remus sets the glass on the table- purposefully, because he almost dropped it- pinches his nose, and swallows the offending excuse for a liquid- because that is not a _drink_ , people cannot possibly _drink_ this _willingly- a_ nd he coughs _,_ spewing what sad little droplets were left on his tongue and gums across the room.

"THAT," he says to the clock, "is FILTHY."

The clock ticks back at him, laughing. _Filthy Philistine of a Clock._

He heaves a bit more, then picks up the glass and walks into the kitchen, where he dumps the rest of the scotch into the sink without a second thought. His head is swirling a bit, and the amber liquid looks a bit reproachful as it glurgs down the drain. Pondering this turn of events, he walks slowly back, plonking himself back in front of the bottles. They glare at him with adult menace.

Naturally, he decides they can't _all_ be so terrible- so he concludes, in the name of Muggle Science, that he must try them all- if only to report back to James and Sirius which bottle to partake in when they come of Age.

 ****PP**SB**JP**RL****

Remus is discovered by his mother at 7:47, asleep on the tatty sofa, with a little pool of sick on the oriental rug.

 ****PP**SB**JP**RL****

"So? Which one was it, then? Which one did you like?"

"You think the house elves maybe have a stash?"

"Pfah! Course they do! I'll bet you McGoogles fancies her firewhiskey-"

"Nah, _Dumbledore- "_

"Remus, you alright, mate? You're a bit green about the edges-"

"I was particular to the sherry, myself," Remus says, before hurling one last time over their pristine, pressed, black School Robes.


	9. October-November, 1971: Moony

**October-November 1971**

"Psst! James!"

 _Silence._

"James! Oi, James!"

 _The_ s _ounds of a fluffy pillow being thrown across the darkened dormitory room are heard._

" _MMF!_ Sirius, what the hell-!"

"Shh! Quiet, you'll wake Pete! C'mere!"

"No, _you_ come here, _you're_ the one that had to throw a pillow- "

"Oh, it didn't hurt, quit whinging- just _come here!"_

 _James sighs melodramatically, flings back his quilt, and shuffles over to Sirius's bed, hissing at the touch of the cold floor. Peter's snores fill the room, he sleeps peacefully. Sirius yanks the hangings shut behind James, and they both crouch in the darkness, legs folding into soft blankets, arms wrapped around cold and knobbly elbows._

"So? What's so important?"

 _Sirius pauses, twisting his mouth. He's not quite sure how to broach the topic, and decides there's nothing for it. He takes a breath._

"Well- it's just, have you, um, have you noticed that Remus is gone an awful lot?"

 _There is a brief silence while James considers this, then-_

"Well, he's just gone off to visit his sick aunt again, isn't he?"

"Don't you think his aunt is sick _a little too often?_ "

"No, wait, last time I think it was his uncle-"

"Doesn't matter! His family- _any_ of them, aunts, uncles, his Mummy's fluffy pet bunny rabbit- they can't _all_ be sick that often! It doesn't make sense!"

"No, no, I- I know, I noticed it too-"

"And you know what the funny thing is?"

"That it's always once a month?"

"…yes. And…and have you noticed anything else about _when_ once a month?"

 _Silence._

 _A shocked intake of breath._

"You don't _think-!"_

"It's the _full moon!_ Look!"

 _They both scramble off the bed and sprint silently to the large window. The moon gazes at them solemnly through the thick panes of glass. Tendrils of cloud wisp past it, curling across the sky. They stare at the moon, and the moon stares back at them. They trade a moment of silence, where breaths have frozen in awe and eyes take in all of the night that is possible. Their ears perk as, from far away, a howl is heard in the distance. It is a distinct howl, the type that makes your skin crawl and your hairs prickle, the type of sound that tells you in no indistinct terms that Something is Out There. James looks at Sirius, and Sirius looks at James, their eyes popping in the breathtaking thrill of it, ragged breaths caught in the curve of their throats. At the same instant they scramble back to the bed, wrench the hangings shut, and jump under the covers. Their toes touch, and Sirius can barely restrain himself from reaching out to hold a part of James- hand, ear, a good handful of pajama, anything- but he doesn't want to show he's a little bit petrified. James quivers under the quilt, a little mass of boy terror._

 _They lie in silence, ears straining for that spectral howl to resurface. It doesn't._

 _Their fingers eventually find each other and they clasp hands, lying stock still in the chill of the night, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the canopy of the bed. They know their linked hands are something they will never admit, not even to each other, but Remus is a_ werewolf _and the full impact of that knowledge is hitting them, hard._

 _Sirius wonders if it will always be like this, if every person close to him will betray him in some way. It's not that Remus has_ betrayed _him, not really- he can't help who he is- but it still hurts, to know that Remus Lupin, the boy he steals quills and shorts from when he's run out, is presently anything but human. He wants to_ do _something, because it isn't_ fair- _but life seems, suddenly, a little less fair, and a little less bright._

"James,"

"Yeah?"

"We have to do something."

"What? What could we possibly do? He's a werewolf- there's no cure, you _know_ that-"

"But we still- I dunno, something- we have to do _something_ to make it better,"

 _Sirius tightens his grip on James' hand, just a little. His fingers are sweaty._

"We have to- we have to, to take care of each other," _Sirius says into the night. It's a little grown-up of him, he knows, but in this mad world of sometimes-dark-things, this fact is cutting through him like a knife. He doesn't know what it's like, to lose your humanity to the moon, but he can make a guess, and his imagination runs with the shadows in his mind. The silence swirls about them, thick and viscous._

"Sirius," _James' voice angles through the dark,_ "We'll tell him and- and maybe mess about, a bit, to let him know it's alright. That it's alright, with us. He'll- he'll need that. To know. It's alright."

"Ok."

 _Silence._

"D'you think..d'you think, it might be..Wildly Inappropriate? To mess him about before we tell him we _know?_ "

"Possibly. Quite probably, actually."

"He might panic."

"Yes. Yes, he probably will. But he'll…I don't know, he'll be in the throes of relief and whatnot when he knows we don't…care. Not really, not at all!"

"And what about Pete?"

 _Peter's makes a slight_ snork! _in his sleep. They listen in silent acknowledgment, considering._

"We'll tell him…eventually. But not yet."

 _Sleep creeps slowly upon them, as the pounding of hearts ease. Heavy lids drift shut, and the warmth of the bed overtakes them, hands still clasped in boyish reassurance._

 _In the wee hours of the morning, when the moon has finished its sojourn across the restless sky, the battered wolf lets loose a last cheerless moan. His bones are bruised, flecks of saliva and fur dot the lacerated walls and furniture of the Shack. Remus doesn't ride the wolf's mind, but is forced into a small space where he waits through the night, hazing through clouds of sensation and pain and instinct. The wolf circles in a tight ring, drooping tail trailing along the floor. He drops heavily, curling into a ball, nose tucked away and ears twitching, eyes peering into the darkness. Somewhere, Remus waits for the coming of day._

 ****SB**JP**RL**PP****

"So how is she?"

"What? Who?"

"Your aunt- Ermine, was it?"

They are walking in the corridors, after a rather festive dinner in which a particularly nasty nose-biting teacup was inserted into Snape's drawers. En lieu of a nose to bite…Snape was levitated to the Hospital Wing. Because he could not walk. They all watched him try, and watched him surreptitiously attempt to dislodge the offending teacup. Remus cringes in secret sympathy, and then cringes again because James and Sirius _remembers his Aunt's name._ They are not supposed to _remember his Aunt's name_ , it was supposed to be a very casual, nonchalant, un-memorable event to cover up the..problem.

"Er- yes, Aunt Ermine- " Remus chokes out- he assumes he must look a bit as if he's swallowed a cream puff.

"Well then, go on, how is she? Is she Saucy? Is she _Feisty_? " Sirius has something between a smirk and a gloat swiped across his face. James looks equally as smug, and Remus is not quite sure it has to do with the teacup in Snape's shorts. The beginnings of anxiety are swirling in his gut- _Danger, danger!_

"Er, well, she- she has, prostate cancer, you see-"

"OOOHHHH, PROSTATE cancer, is it?"

"Yes. Yes, cancer of the- of the prostate."

"The prostate, as a I recall, Sirius, is what we more commonly call Our Bits."

"You know, I do believe you're right, James. Our Bits."

"So Aunt Ermine has Bits, does she? Manly Bits?"

"Erm-" Remus is squirming, they can all see it now. James and Sirius advance on him like a cat, Peter happily puttering alongside. _Why,_ Remus thinks, _WHY is he so STUPID?_

"How else could we put it.."

"Has she got a Willy?"

"A Tiny Tadger?"

"A Trouser Snake? Of the one-eyed variety, of course- "

"John Thomas?"

"Funky Monkey?"

"I think in America they call it Junk!"

"…Do they, Pete! Well done, man," Sirius claps Peter, who is looking outrageously pleased with himself, on the back. "Point being-" he fixes Remus with a stare- "Aunt Ermine has a _prostate_ , does she?"

Remus can't look away. He is beginning to panic, in a very, very bad way. The anxiety has turned to panic, and the panic is quickly becoming flat out dread. His stomach begins to contract, and he wonders if perhaps he will be sick. He could flee, he supposes- but he can't, because they'll just corner him later, and also that is not the Manly Way. He steels himself. _Courage, Lupin!_ He licks his lips, and speaks in the most convincing and relaxed way he can muster.

"Erm..yes. I mean no! Well, not really, she's- she's, you see, she's a- a, a wotyoucall- a trans-sexual," he finishes a bit helplessly. _There, that's done it,_ he thinks. _I am doomed._

"A trans-sexual, eh? Can we meet her, then?"

"Sounds like she could use some proper guests, prostate cancer and all- poor thing- "

James and Sirius sport identical manic grins. Peter is beginning to look confused.

"Erm, no, she's in hopsital- "

"Oughtn't we to send her sweets, at the very least?"

"Cockroach clusters?"

"Blood lollies?"

"In America they've got 100 Grand bars, and candy buttons, and- "

"Bloody hell, Pettigrew, what is it with you and the Americans- !"

"I've an aunt," he mutters, going slightly pink.

"Anyway-"

"No! no, she's in hospital, she needs rest, and not- not sweets- "

" Ah, more's the pity- when will you be seeing her next? On the 2nd?"

"Well yes, but- " Remus freezes. The 2nd is _the full moon._ For all their attempts at innocent expressions- their twistings of lips and twiddling of thumbs- Remus know something is afoot. Their eyes are wicked, and triumphant, and a little sad. His dread-panic is quickly turning into a scream, the will to just _throw a punch,_ have it done with- he feels a bit like a cornered animal-

"Well then, tah, _Moony!_ We've detention- mischief to uphold, and all that, you know!

And they dash off, snorts of laughter echoing off the walls. Remus is left standing with Peter, feeling odd and dodgy and uncomfortable, pulling at the fraying cuff of his jumper. _They know. Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod._

"Should we go back? I've got that Transfiguration essay to finish, and it's hopeless." Peter sighs. Remus begins to walk automatically, but he really just wants to run. Peter glances at him, all joviality, a little puzzled and slightly irritated, but there is also a hoard of 100 Grand bars that his aunt sent him stashed in a little corner of his trunk, which he is very much looking forward to.

"Your face is really very white, did you know? Are you alright? Oh, and why did they call you Moony?"

Remus breathes out slowly, passes a hand over his face, and says, "You know, I haven't the faintest idea."

 ****RL**SB**JP**PP****

Remus Lupin is studying. He is trying to study, is a more accurate way of putting it- but the funny thing about studying, or about _anything_ , is that even if you carve out a moment where you _really ought to be doing a thing_ \- studying, or practicing, or writing the Great American Novel, if your mind says, _nope, none of that now!_ Then that's it, and bully for the studying.

Remus Lupin is trying to study, but the anxiety-panic-dread that has committed itself to his innards is steadily becoming a rather alarming shade of fear. It's not exactly fear of his friends finding out about his.. problem- he has become resigned to this fact, James and Sirius are much too smart for their own good, and Peter will know eventually- no. He fears that when they come and speak to him, _Hallo, Remus, old pal, old chum, did you know, when the full moon comes we've noticed that you've a tendency to turn into a wolf of outrageous proportions?-_ when they do, finally, come to speak to him, it will be different. That will be it, they can say they don't _mind_ that he's a werewolf all they want, but it will be _different._ How does one reconcile _twelve year old secretly Jane Austen-loving boy_ with _very large, drooling animal with deplorable tendencies?_ Because once it's out in the open they will want to _know_ things, like _how does it feel?_ and _what's it like to think like a wolf?_ and _do you ever, you know, eat, you know, eat other animals, and things? Like rodents? Do you eat rodents?_ And he will never be able to live it down.

It is ridiculous, he knows, that this, of all things, is what he is tearing himself up over, but he has enjoyed, really enjoyed, being a normal boy with friends who tolerate his innate dustiness. _What if it wears old? What if, soon enough, I am left alone? Again?_ And it is this that he cannot stand. He rereads, for the seventeenth time, _This particularly bloody and gruesome death of Yvonne le Terrible was yet another motivation that led to the 164th Goblin Rebellion in the year 1347, Anno Domini._

A shadow falls over his book. The end is nigh.

"Hallo, Remus, old pal, old chum, did you know, when the full moon comes we've noticed that you've a tendency to turn into a wolf of outrageous proportions?"

"Yes, we _have_ noticed that, have _you_ noticed that, Remus?"

Peter has looked up from the house of cards he has been building, his face a mixture of stunned jellyfish and curious owl. Remus trembles.

"I, er- no. No I haven't."

"Oh, come now. Don't deny it." James grins, an earnest, full smile filling his face. Sirius peeks at him with an echoing smirk, chin balanced on James' shoulder.

Remus looks quickly around the common room. No one of consequence is there, a few fourth years lounging by the fire. He stands suddenly, knocking his chair back, seizes his books, and marches up the stairs. The boys follow in his wake, Peter urgently stuffing the cards into his back pocket.

Remus collapses onto his bed, and waits for the inevitable. The door is snapped shut. They are alone, and suddenly none of them quite know what to say. Remus takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and says, "Yes. It's true."

"What's true? I-"

" YES! I k _new_ it!" Sirius crows, fist pumping in the air.

"I don't understand-"

"Don't you see, Pete, _Remus is a werewolf!_ "

The werewolf in question is lying on the bed, eyes pinched shut. _It's just a very bad dream. Wake up, you idiot._ But of course it's not a dream, and he _is_ awake, and the rest of them have plunked down on the bed with him. He makes a noise in his throat, because he knows Sirius's trainers are full of mud and dirt and other questionable particles, and they are now taking up residence on his sheets. "You're all going to leave me now, aren't you? If not now, then soon." He feels as if he might cry, and his voice is tight and choked with desperation, though not a trace of it shows on his face. He thinks.

Instead, he is assaulted by flailing arms and the odd tie that has managed to bind his legs and what he thinks might be some of Pete's cards. "Wha- _geroff_ -!"

" _Leave_ you? Moony, you are full of _tragedy_ and _angst_ , it's unbecoming!" Sirius's head is somewhere under his armpit and his cold nose is in his ribs, and he feels his own head unceremoniously pinched into a headlock with James scrubbing his hair mercilessly. Pete seems to be sitting on his stomach, cards scraping cuts into his stomach.

"He has no _faith,_ Sirius, it's appalling!"

"I still like you, Remus, don't worry," Peter says consolingly, patting his leg.

Remus can't breathe. "I can't breathe."

"Oh, _darling_ , do you need more convincing? We'll _never_ leave you, maybe if I stuck my tongue in your ear-"

"No! Nono! Can breathe! Am convinced! No!" Remus yelps, but there is already disturbingly slurpy sounds deep in his ear canal, and- " _Nnnaugh!_ No, nonono, yes I am a werewolf and I also can bite and have canines and apparently noodly arms that do no good whatsoever and get off getoffgetoff augh PLEASE get off..!" James has left equal amounts of slobber in his destroyed hair, _I will never be clean again_ , and croons "Ohhh, muffin, that's just what we wanted to hear!"

He is released, and lies in noodly defeat, Peter still perched on his stomach, munching a 100 Grand bar he has produced from somewhere, and flanked by two of the most disgusting boys in existence. "Nnnnnaugh," he moans piteously.

"Oh cheer up, it's not that bad- you just turned out to be an immensely dark creature."

"Remus Lupin, _werewolf_ , who knew?"

"Mmmf." There is spit in his eyeballs and other ungodly places.

"Wish there was something, you know, we could do and all,"

"Mmmf."

"Where do you go to change, anyway? Does Dumbledore know?"

"Mmmf. Yes. Cabin. Hogsmeade." He waves his hand listlessly in a general direction implying Not Here. "Philistines, you know," Remus mutters, vaguely combing saliva from his hair, "the lot of you."

"Well."

They sit in companionable silence, soaking in the full impact of their friendship, strengthened with the awesome weight of a brilliant secret. Boys, it seems, will find a way to fix their messes, with the physicalness of boys, the unquestioned closeness that youth brings.

Peter digs into his pockets, burps soulfully, and brings out a hand filled with 100 Grand Bars.

"Chocolate?"

"Right here!"

"Yes, please."

"Good man, Pete."

 ****RL**SB**JP**PP****

Peter lies awake in bed, the small sounds of sleep surrounding him on all sides. Little turns and breathy whines, and James, who wheezes and has got a slight cold and probably a plugged nostril.

It's not that he's scared of Remus, now that he knows- it's that he _didn't_ know, that James or Sirius hadn't bothered to tell him. It's a little, niggling feeling that sneaks up on him in the quiet times of night, when he thinks that maybe he is a little disposable. James and Sirius are ace at… _everything_ , and now Remus turns out to be a bloody _werewolf_ , and…where does that leave Peter? Short, a little round, a little pink, and a little helpless. It is at times like these, when he is left with only his mind for company, that the inadequacies begin to gnaw at him- slight, at the edges of his brain, like a rat nibbling a sock in the dark.

He pushes the thoughts emphatically aside, and squeezes his eyelids together. Because, even if he isn't tall with the beginnings of dashing good looks, or perfectly brilliant at transfiguration and charms and just about everything else, or even an official dark creature, _he has friends_ , real friends, that keep him around for his- for his good fun, is what. Because Peter is a Sport. _Yes,_ he thinks, as his thoughts begin to drift, _any group of friends needs a normal, cheerful, bloke. And that's me._

They sleep, in the heavy, blissful way only children can.


	10. January 12, 1972: A Potions Class

**January 12, 1972**

 **A Potions Class**

"Please open your textbooks to page 127, if you would, there we are.." says Professor Slughorn, bouncing a bit as he edges his way towards his desk.

The day is dark, a full-force blizzard pummels the windows of the castle. The wind moans at the windows, looking for cracks to sneak its smoky fingers through.

Lily and Severus have taken a seat near Slughorn's desk, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter sit behind them, and the remaining seats are a mishmash of Slytherins and Gryffindors second years. Severus is already rummaging in his threadbare bag, Lily has dutifully flipped open her textbook to the correct page. _Swelling Solution._ James and Sirius are squabbling quietly over something- Sirius is gesticulating violently- Remus is just finishing a page of something distinctly not his Potions textbook, and Peter is already staring out the window, head propped on his fist, and his mouth is hanging open slightly.

"Now then! Who can tell me what a Swelling Solution is capable of?….Mr. Pettigrew! Can you enlighten us?"

Peter's elbow promptly falls off the desk in shock, _ow! -_ and he looks wildly at his mates searching for an answer- _any_ answer, as he generally hasn't the foggiest notion of anything that happens in any of his classes. Lily twists her lips in annoyance as Severus pulls down her waving hand. Severus glances at her, notes her pinched lips, her air of despondency. He can almost feel the waves of discouragement wafting about her, and it puzzles him.

"Well then, Mr. Pettigrew?"

Peter gulps. He is bollocks at answering questions. All questions should be directed to James. Or to Sirius and Remus. Not to him, because he is Peter, Bollocks at Answering Questions.

"Erm.. well, it, um- "

" _If brewed correctly,"_ James hisses under his breath.

"Erm, it, if, if brewed correctly,"

" _It will cause that which it is applied to to swell,"_

"It- it will, erm, cause that which, which it is applied to, to swell- "

" _Causing the subject to accumulate an indefinite amount of mass on the afflicted area."_

"Causing the- subject- to, to accum- accumulate an indefinite amount of- mass? On the, on the ifflic- afflicted, afflicted area."

There is a small silence following these words. Slughorn is looking at Peter with puzzled exasperation, eyebrows quirking as he decides what to do with a decidedly embellished textbook definition. James and Sirius are doing their best to hold in silent fits of laughter, and Remus is determinedly ignoring the lot of them. Peter slowly turns an impressive shade of pink.

"You are correct, Mr. Pettigrew, correct indeed. Although I'll thank _you_ , Mr. Potter, to not hand out answers willy-nilly. Well now! I suppose that merits five points to Gryffindor- although _marginally_ , you understand, do please try to answer in your own words next time…Now! Can anyone tell me what an antidote to the Swelling Solution is? …Miss Rosier!"

Lily is usually an excellent student, but today she is antsy, shifting in her chair, shuffling through her bag for nothing in particular, doodling along the margins of her book. Severus watches her out of the corner of his eye, his long dark hair tucked behind his ears. She's inking dark, ornate designs into today's potion recipe, and it's beginning to obscure the instructions. He tugs gently at the quill, fingers brushing the prickly barbs of feather, and her hand releases. He writes carefully in the margin of his own, second-hand copy, _Bee in your bonnet?_ , then lays the quill back on the desk. Lily glances at him, biting at her lip. She glances at Slughorn, who is intoning the proper method of slicing caterpillars- "..and just pop the head off, like so.." - and picks up the quill.

 _No._ She writes it very precisely, taking time to make a perfectly round period, ripping through the page in the process. She grimaces and rubs at it. The ink smudges.

"..it should, at this point, be quite easy to slice the caterpillar once the legs are removed, but do remember, _diagonal_ slices will make the most efficient use of the entire body.."

 _Keep head,_ Severus notes next to his list of ingredients. Lily, watching, lifts her eyebrows.

 _?_

 _Head is most potent bit._

 _How do you know?_

 _Mum brewed potions._

"..and who can tell me which ingredient is the most important, and why…?"

Lily fiddles with her quill while Severus watches from the corner of his eye. It's not like her to be slouched, passing notes with him, instead of on the edge of her seat with her hand in the air.

 _What type of potions?_

Severus stiffens, then writes, _Medicinal, mostly._

Lily nods, twirling her quill in her fingers. Blotches of ink scatter from it, spattering Severus's textbook and nose.

"Mr. Lupin! Care to elaborate?"

Remus clears his throat, and embarks on a long-winded answer involving leech juice and the proper cleaning techniques of a silver knife- to which he is _well_ versed.

 ****LE**SS**RL**JP**SB**PP****

Fifteen minutes later and they have lit small fires under their cauldrons, as they carefully pore over their textbooks. Severus crushes his nettles and puffer fish eyes into a fine powder, hovering over the mortar and pestle. Lily copies him, twisting the pestle in her fist.

"They called me mudblood again," she says quietly, as if to no one in particular. The pestle scrapes against the sides of the bowl, _scritch, scritch._ Severus is silent for a moment, the spirited chatter of the students echoing around the classroom as they scramble for ingredients. He is already chopping his caterpillars into neat, precise lines, surreptitiously keeping the head to one side.

"They're wrong," he says, mildly. "You're not a mudblood. The word itself implies _mud_ for _blood._ It's a foul word, and- anyway, it's just wrong. You shouldn't listen to them."

"It means I'm a _muggle_. Or as good as one, at any rate- that I have dirty blood-"

"But you're _not_ a muggle, and you haven't _got dirty_ blood. That's stupid. You've got more magic in your little finger than most of the idiots here, I've always said that! Look," says Severus, laying down his silver knife with a little more force than necessary, "they are _twits._ _Morons._ Of the first class. They haven't the slightest notion. No, really- " Lily smirks at him from across her cauldron- "Who was it, Bellatrix again? Narcissa?"

"Oh, it really doesn't matter.."

"It _does_ , actually, because no matter how pureblood those _idiots_ are, did you know, the only reason they're here, at Hogwarts, is to _find themselves husbands_. Well that and, I suppose, to learn the basics. But not to, you know, be the Minister of Magic or anything!"

Lily meets his eyes, her mouth a little 'o'. " _No!_ " she hisses. " _Yes_ ," Severus grimaces, eyes on the potion that is now slightly bubbling. "Most of them are just married off as soon as they're out of school- to other purebloods, of course- and they don't even have to know _any_ of the spells or potions, or even household charms since they've got house elves to do them-"

"What's a house elf?"

"It's..well, it's an elf, you know, those nasty, tiny things that run around after you and clean and cook and all that rubbish." He wrinkles his nose. "Never did like them. They do all of that here, you know, clean up your messes and make the food-"

"Really? But I've never seen one!"

"They stay out of the way. But never mind that, _the point is_ , that's why all the fuss was made when my- my Mum went and married a- a muggle." He's suddenly silent, the corners of his lips pulled tight and the angles of his face rigid. Lily quietly stirs the burbling liquid, _four stirs clockwise, two counterclockwise; four clockwise, two counterclockwise_. Severus _never_ speaks about his family, and she has the feeling it's more than just his mother's death last year. It's the way he doesn't speak about his father, the way he flinches from the subject in the smallest physical gestures.

He takes a breath in through his nose, inhaling the slightly sweet fumes. "I'm not sure if my father ever forgave my Mum for being a witch, not really," he says, a scant smile twisting his face. "He…well, I'm here, now, and I'm a half-blood. Just," he turns to Lily, all earnestness- "Just don't. Take them seriously. You're one of the best witches in our year, and you're muggle-born. _I'm_ one of the best wizards in our year, and I'm half-blood. What does that tell you?"

"That you won't die from modesty?" Lily snorts.

Severus scowls, his brows knit in concentration as he reaches for a bat spleen while trying to keep the stirring even. " _No_ , it means that _work_ \- and talent, I suppose, are what makes a witch or wizard, and that can happen to anyone! Look at Celestine Goyle- you know, the 4th year- dumb as a rock, she can't even do a proper levitation charm! And she's as pureblood as they get. Lily, trust me. Blood means…nothing." His voice has risen, though he hasn't meant it to, and he's not sure if he's convincing himself of what he's saying, or convincing Lily- because the fact is he doesn't know _what_ , exactly to think- but this, this now, seems right, seems good.

"But…but what about…" her face darkens into a black look- "what about _Potter?_ And _Black?_ They're both pureblood and..and everything is just so _simple_ for them!"

Severus opens his mouth to answer and, inevitably, something small and slightly fizzing is lobbed into his cauldron. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last, but every time it prods at a dark little spot in his gut. He screws his eyes shut, waiting for the impending explosion, Lily's look of mixed horror and pity imprinted on his mind. _Not again._

 _BLAM!_

It explodes in little spurts of red and brown- oddly enough because the potion had slowly become a clear gold- and goes _everywhere_ , landing on his head, on his hands, his arms. Screams and squeals erupt around the classroom, and he wonders vaguely if it's hit Lily this time or if she's managed to get out of the way. His fingers are swelling, and he's vaguely pleased that his potion was, at least, perfect, before it was ruined. Slughorn is bellowing like a wounded hippo, ordering those hit to the head of the classroom so an antidote can be administered. He can feels his robes splitting, and the heat from his swelling limbs, and hopes in panicked jolts that his robes won't be completely ruined, because he only has three pairs and _how can I ask Father for another pair!_ Lily hobbles past him on bare and swollen feet, their inflated hands knocking together- and even in this moment when they look their most and completely wretched, his heart gives a little lurch.

 ****SS**LE**JP**SB**RL**PP****

James looks on in ill-disguised horror. Lily's feet look as if they could explode at any moment, although she at least had the presence of mind to kick off her trainers the moment she was hit. And really, he should only have eyes for Snape- who resembles something out of a bad muggle sci-fi film- but seeing _Lily_ hit..

" _I told you not to throw it so hard!"_ he hisses at Sirius, who is watching the mayhem with amusement.

"Not my fault, Petey here nudged my elbow- got thrown a wee bit harder than intended- but it was going to explode anyway! Did you think Evans would be shielded from Swelling Solution as by the mere fact of her inimitable beauty?" Sirius snickers, among indignant exclamations of "Did _not_!" from Peter, who is skulking under his desk.

Remus stands placidly by his cauldron, stirring slowly- _four counter-clockwise, two clockwise-_ "You know, I did tell you. As a matter of fact, I think I tell you _every single time_ which is, by my estimate, a grand total of eight. And-" he pauses to sprinkle in his crushed daisy root- "Couldn't you at least be a _little_ more creative? It all gets so, so _paltry_. And really, James, don't be so shocked, Lily's gotten splashed at least four times, which technically makes it an over-fifty-percent-chance-"

"Sod off, Remus."

"At least you feel remorse, I wasn't sure you had it in you," says Remus. The corners of his lips are twitching.

" _Remorse?_ Why, oh _why_ should Jamesie be feeling _remorse?_ Look at the size of Snivellus's _hands_ , he's like- like an interstellar gorilla, is what, it's bloody marvelous!"

"An _interstellar gorilla?_ Really, Sirius, I didn't know you were interested in such articulate muggle sciences that include _interstellar gorillas_ in their area of study. _"_

"Sod _off,_ Moony!"

"He might be able to strangle you with hands that big, Sirius," Peter pipes in from under the desk.

"Not helpful, Pettigrew. But honestly, James, why should it bother you? Look, she's getting the antidote right now- "

"Just- just, maybe- I don't know, just- I _like_ her, I don't want her to- to, get _hit with Swelling Solution_ and, and dungbombs, and- " James chances a glance at Sirius. Nobody is even pretending to work on their potions, with the exception of Remus, how is now prodding at the liquid with his wand. Sirius is glowering at him, looking fit to explode. James bites his tongue.

"Are we not _men?_ Are we really going to worry about- about _girls_ getting hit with _Swelling Solution_ when there is a _great greasy-haired git_ who obviously demands every type of pounding known to _man_ not _ten feet away?"_ growls Sirius, teeth gritted.

"I might remind you that Peter is the only of us who has yet to turn 13, we're hardly _men_ -"

Remus murmurs, but is cut off by Professor Slughorn, bustling over to them in a priggish manner, ample stomach parting students before him. He stops in front of the boys, who are looking everywhere except his face. "If you would, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter," and he gestures towards his office, while peering into Remus's cauldron. "Oh, and well done, I must say, Mr. Lupin! 10 points to Gryffindor. And- Mr. Pettigrew, you can come out from under that desk, it's quite safe- and of course," he says, following Sirius and James to the back of the classroom, " That'll be 40 points _from_ Gryffindor, and what was that you threw in? A firecracker, dear me…these are banned, I believe?"

"We _never_ \- " Sirius begins, his eyes sparkling wickedly.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, you _never_ , never at all, not once, as I understand…That'll be class dismissed, go on now…"

 ****JP**SB**RL**PP**LE**SS****

They pack their bags in silence, arms and legs and feet and eyeballs restored to their original size. Severus's hair hangs in his face, covering his burning cheeks. _Every time,_ he thinks, _and it never gets easier._ They can hear Professor Slughorn's rumblings from his office, accompanied by the attempted interruptions of Black and Potter. Severus hates them, maybe more than he has hated anyone. He hates his father, but more in the way that one _hates a father,_ and yes, Lily's sister is an enormous and rather awful pain in the arse, but _Potter and Black_ …he hates them with the slow dull burn that wakens in his gut every time he is made the butt of their insufferable, _inane,_ jokes. O _ne day, they will pay,_ he the worst of it, the _worst_ of it, is that Potter fancies Lily, and everyone knows it. And both Potter and Black on the Quidditch team, the _youngest_ on any of the teams, while he, Severus, has two feet that refuse to cooperate on the _ground,_ and the both of them are so infuriatingly _cool,_ so _arrogant_ \- it makes Severus feel small and bitter and scathing all at the same time. It makes him _angry_ because he has no one to help him fight back-

"You know," Lily says, breaking into his thoughts, "I sometimes wonder what would happen if I told my parents about _everything_ that happens here. If I wrote them today and said, Dear Daddy and Mummy, today I got hit by some Swelling Solution because some absolutely horrible, arrogant _gits_ threw a firecracker into my best friend's potion and it got all over us, and my eyeballs got about as big as tennis balls- I wonder what they would think?"

But Severus has stopped listening at the words _best friend_. He smiles at her, the shy smile that she loves best- and together, they leave the classroom.


	11. March-April 1972: April Fool's

**March-April, 1972: April Fools**

 ** _A/N: Just quickly, to my fellow Americans- 'shorts' is often used instead of 'boxers' or men's underwear generally in the UK. I think, but correct me if I'm wrong- trying to stay true to the Briticisms!_**

 **March 1, 1972**

A separate copy of the following note is found taped to the foreheads of James, Peter and Remus when they awake, at approx. 8:17, 8:16, and 7:30 A.M., respectively:

 _MATES!_

 _Today, March 1, marks the beginning of planning for April 1. It is a sad and tragic thing that we missed April 1, 1971, but we must press on valiantly!_

 _I expect a list of THREE IDEAS from EACH of you by March 2, 1972, at precisely 8:00 AM in the Great Hall where you will find me stuffing my face with kippers. There will be CONSEQUENCES if you fail to do so. CONSEQUENCES, I say!_

 _Go forth, brave men, and conceive the best pranks known to wizard-kind! (But not too good, you know, or we'll have nothing for next year.) Go forth!_

 _SIRIUS THE BLACK_

Found rolled around Sirius's wand, secured with a neatly tied piece of twine during breakfast:

 _My Dear Sirius,_

 _Do I condone a prankish assault of the senses?_ Can _I condone it? You must remember, I am currently on track for prefect-dom (or so I'm hoping, you understand,) so- go forth, my friend, and conquer without me. Somebody's got to watch your tail anyway._

 _Moony_

Crumpled and lobbed at Remus during History of Magic, encouraging several moments of scrambling to ensue after it bounces off Remus's head and serendipitously down Lily's robes, rescued by one James Potter after which a very red-faced Lily pops him a good one on his cheekbone; during which Professor Binns has switched to the topic of the Goblin Rebellion of 1376 as opposed to the Goblin Rebellion of 1375:

 _UNACCEPTABLE! Read: UN, meaning NOT, ACCEPTABLE, meaning ACCEPTABLE. This is not our way! Don't you have any SCRUPLES? How would we PLAN the prank without you? It might need RESEARCH, Moony- Read: LONG HOURS SPENT LOOKING AT DUSTY AND BORING BOOKS IN THE LIBRARY. It might not also but anyway this is irrelevant because I do not take no for an answer!_

 _Present your ideas, tomorrow, 8 AM! Sharpish!_

 _S_

Folded into a paper crane and levitated up Sirius's left nostril during Charms, earning Remus five points from Gryffindor for causing partial suffocation to a fellow classmate, but also five points to Gryffindor for an impeccable demonstration of a Levitation Charm:

 _As I understand it, Peter has already come up with some twenty-three separate pranks, some of them involving rubber ducks, and some of them not. I cannot imagine my input to be so vital._

 _I participate only if you can beat me in chess. 8 PM. The common room. Sharpish, as you say!_

 _Moony_

Found by none too mysterious means pinned to the inside of Remus's shorts:

 _NO. No, absolutely not, you will thrash me and it will be shameful and- anyway! This is not the point! No chess! Just- just, come on, how can I convince you? We_ need _your ideas, if Pete's are centered on rubber-duckies and what-have-you we'll need the old grubby books to counter! I'll capture the house-elves and do your laundry by hand for a week, what say you?_

 _S_

Rolled into a very thin scroll and slipped carefully into Sirius's jacket-potato, covered in cheese and bacon and other oozy bits:

 _No you won't, you'll just lock up the house-elves and I'll have to go round the castle untying them and generally mollifying them AGAIN. Poor buggers, whatever did they do to you? Chess it is, then?_

 _Moony_

 _P.S. My_ shorts _, Sirius? Have you got a soft spot for them, or were you just ensuring a terrible chafing?_

 ****SB**RL**JP**PP****

"…Well! That was certainly unexpected…"

James says it, although they're all thinking it. Sirius is sitting, slack-jawed in disbelief, as Remus glares at the chess board. The little white queen is dancing circles around the defeated king in a wholly unbecoming manner.

" _Wow,"_ Peter breathes. "That was the most exciting game of chess I think I've ever seen…I've never seen the pieces get so..violent.."

"And, you know, it's _my set_ , after all," James says, swiping the crumbled players off the board. "They'll _never_ listen to me after this massacre.." he grumbles under his breath.

Remus is staring daggers at James's hands as he sweeps the board clean. Sirius worries his bottom lip. He doesn't _win_ at chess, it just doesn't happen. He doesn't see things as they will be, like Remus does. He flies off like a kite at the slightest provocation, makes snap decisions based on the status quo. This is why it is a complete, obscene, absurd fluke that he has _won a game of chess,_ that he now sits across from a stony Remus, who is uncanny in his stillness. Sirius considers making a dash for it, because Remus's wiry arms are beginning to tremble slightly and they are much stronger than they look, but thinks better of it. He sucks in a breath and says tentatively, "Look, mate, just a game, eh?

But Remus has already carefully peeled himself away from the table, and stalks up the staircase to the dormitories without once looking back.

There is a little silence that falls between the boys, as they watch Remus's disappearing feet. "Should we just let him go?" Peter asks. They can hear the door _snick_ shut with marked finality.

"Nah, just leave him, he'll be fine- not used to being beat, is all. Speaking of which, Sirius, how _did_ you win? Did you cheat? The pieces didn't put up a fuss- "

"No! No, I _didn't_ cheat, I just, well- I don't know, the queen was just _there-_ but you saw! It was luck, he wasn't paying attention, or something- " Sirius squirms in his seat, all hang-dog and shamefaced even though he should be a little thrilled, and probably a little angry at Remus for being an _incredibly bad loser_! But how were they to know, because _Remus never loses!_

He sighs, deeply, and turns his mind to more important matters: "Well, mates, how are those lists coming?"

 ****RL**SB**JP**PP****

Found tucked under Sirius's pillow, in the dead of night, and read by the wavering light of a wand:

 _S-_

 _We could talk about tonight, and how you pummeled me in chess, and how it makes me_ feel _, and you would screech at my woeful lack of manliness and the probability of my acquiring girl-parts, and smother me with a pillow in no uncertain terms as to that particular action's consequences, and I would beg for mercy in a shocking display of faintheartedness, and there would be reconciliations and many blithering tears shed as we finally swore each other into blood-brotherdom._

 _Or I could tell you that I made a list after Charms, and was going to stick it to you after I pummeled you in chess. You forget I am a Dark Creature capable of Unspeakable Things, and as such it wouldn't do to be on my bad side. Re-match tomorrow?_

 _Don't let the bedbugs bite._

 _M_

 ****RL**SB****

March 2, 1972, 8:00 AM

 _1\. Turn Snape's head into a_ _rubber duck!_

 _2\. Turn Malfoy's head into a_ _rubber duck!_

 _3\. Turn all the food at the Slytherin table into_ _rubber ducks!_

 _4\. Turn all Bellatrix's makeup yellow so she looks like a_ _rubber duck!_

 _5\. Turn ALL the Slytherin girl's makeup yellow so they look like_ _rubber ducks!_

Sirius crumples the list in distaste, throwing the parchment at the discarded kipper tails littering his plate. "Pete," he says, slowly- " _Rubber ducks?!_ Merlin's sagging _Y-fronts_ , why, oh _WHY-_ rubber ducks?!"

"He does have a point, Pete," James is trying very hard- and failing- to hold in his laughter, as Peter pushes his eggs around the plate with his wand. They seem to be accumulating the same deep shade of pink his face normally acquires in situations such as these.

"I thought it would be funny," Peter says in a small voice.

Sirius makes a noise of disgust, leaning back and folding his arms. Peter glances at him miserably, his eggs blooming into a wretched mass of brown runny not-eggs. Remus has disappeared behind the edge of _Great Expectations_ (he's not really sure why he's reading it- _Dickens-),_ but James sees the crest-fallen boy, and feels _bad._ Because, really, what is it like, to be constantly reminded of your inferiority in the face of Sirius's scathing genius and infinite good looks? It's all well and good for James, because he gives as good as he gets, but for Pete- plain, unremarkable Pete- what could it be _like?_

So he breaks the uncomfortable silence, tugging Peter's wand from the mass of eggs that is slowly inflating, and says, "No, but wait, Sirius, there are…" and here he smoothes the rumpled parchment onto the table, "there are.. _twenty-three_ , wow Pete, that's a lot- _twenty-three_ in all, let's just keep looking…there! Number eighteen, _Turn the Slytherin snake on their banner into a_ _rubber duck!_ How about that one? I think that would be _wicked_." And he's not lying, it _would_ be wicked, because what better way to insult the pride of a couple hundred morons at once than by blaspheming their symbol in the most mundane, _Muggle_ way possible?

Sirius sits a little straighter, the flash in his eyes back as he considers this option. Peter is looking at James with the eyes of a man who has been given is dignity back, and James squirms under the attention and folds and re-folds the edges of the parchment.

"I vote for that one," Remus says from behind his book. He flips a page.

"Yeah, alright, that one's pretty good," Sirius says grudgingly. Peter's smile is blinding.

" _Wicked."_

"But we still need at _least_ two more! Who's up next? Moony, gimme your list.."

 ****PP**SB**JP**RL****

 **March 23, 1972**

"So, Toogo, let's start with a few questions, shall we?"

"No! I is saying nothing, Mr. Black, sir! I is not..not giving away house-elf secrets, sir!"

"No no, of course not, Toogo, of course not. Mr. Potter, you have the list, I presume?"

"Is this completely necessary- "

"'Course it is! Look how _happy_ Toogo is in a partial body-bind- "

"Toogo is _not_ happy!"

"..And how perfectly _willing_ Toogo is to help our cause!"

"I is _not..!_ You is _not_ Toogo's master..! _"_

"Mr. Potter, if you please."

"Question Number One! And please, Toogo, answer truthfully and you'll be right back down to the kitchens before you can say _Dumbledore_. Right! Question Number One: Please explain how _exactly_ our food is transported from the kitchens to the Great Hall?"

"Toogo _won't-!_ "

"Might I remind you, Toogo, that we have in our possession a rather excellent piece of _clothing-_ ah, thank you Mr. Potter- wait.. _James!_ Isn't this- isn't this.. _McGoogle's hat?_ "

"And I've done an admirable job of nicking it, if I do say so myself."

"I'm not quite sure I can part with this- "

"Sirius! Task at hand!"

"Oh. Right. You there, Toogo of the partial body-bind! This bountifully beautiful hat will be incontestably _yours_ lest you bow to our indomitable will! Now! Tell me! How would one go about slipping certain unmentionable ingredients into a certain house's meal? Hypothetically, of course."

 ****SB**JP****

They stroll down the corridor, arm in arm, away from the empty classroom where they have stuffed the hapless Toogo into a storage closet. McGonagall's hat dangles from Sirius's hand, where he grips it perhaps a bit too tightly.

"I think that went rather well, don't you?"

"Without doubt. Will you tell Remus that we've captured another house elf, or shall I?"

"Probably together would be best, I don't think he's over that chess match yet."

James glances down at the the witch's hat, clutched tightly between Sirius's fingers. "And what about the hat? I'm sure Googly is missing it by now."

"D'you think I could just keep it?" Sirius brings it up to his face, snuffing earnestly. "James, it _smells_ of her.."

" _Eurgh_ , you are _disgusting._ Here, give it!"

And with that, James wrenches it from Sirius's placid grasp, and dashes off down the passage. Sirius stills for a split-second, before his face cracks into a wild grin as he bolts after his friend.

 ****SB**JP****

March 25, 1972

"There really ought to be a map of this place. James said North-East tower, right?"

"I think so..I didn't even _know_ there was a North-East tower…shouldn't James and Sirius have done this bit anyway? They're up there all the time- "

"Something about having ' _earned'_ it, I think. This is _not_ \- or _shouldn't_ , anyway- be the reward for excellent research."

Remus and Peter amble down the corridor, looking readily Un-Suspicious. They are so Un-Suspicious that they have seen fit to casually drape one of Remus's hands in his pockets, and Peter has decided to whistle Auld Lang Syne, which is the first tune that pops into his head. It is, therefore, a not-so-serendipitous event when Filch turns the corridor, and stops dead. His face is haggard, stringy hair dangling around his face. _It is odd,_ Remus thinks, as they freeze in their tracks, _that my attempt at prefect-dom now lies in the hands of a mop-man._ He chokes at his own joke, but quickly stifles it as Filch whirls on them.

"Well, well, what have we here… _students out of bed- "_

"But isn't it only ten past eight?" Peter blurts out. _Thank God for Peter,_ Remus thinks, as he seems to have stilled into a little nervous icicle.

Filch's face contorts into an expression of deliberate thoughtfulness, his small, watery eyes scrunching into pinpoints. "So it is, must've..fallen asleep- but, eh! What's that ye've got in yer pocket, Lupin!" He barks it at Remus, who startles and lets his hand fall out of his pocket.

"N-nothing, sir!" Peter shoots him a look of disgust. _Sir? Filch? Really?_

"Eh…Suspicious, though, innit? And you, Pettigrew!" He fixes his little beady eyes on Peter, who suddenly looks as if he might bolt. _Stand your ground!_ Remus thinks at him frantically, eyes huge. "Singin' Auld Lang Syne, are ye? Bit _past_ that time of year, innit? _Suspicious_ , innit?"

"Erm, no- sir!" _Well, the shoe's on the other foot..think fast, Pettigrew!_ He swallows. Hard. "It's, um, it's- it's Chinese New Year today, sir! Year of the- the um," - a quick, nervous glance at Remus- "The Year of the- of the, uh, Wolf, sir, Year of the Wolf."

Filch looks stumped. Obviously his delight in alcohol has been working in their favor, as they can smell the stale drink emanating off him. He scratches his head balefully. Little snowflakes spill gently from his fingernails. "Chinese New Year, eh? That so, Pettigrew?"

"Yes, sir."

A tense silence falls as Filch thinks this through, hoping for (and sadly missing) all of the holes in this story. Remus prays silently.

"And yer Chinese, is you, Pettigrew?"

"No, sir! I mean- I mean, yes sir, my, my- my Great-Great-Grand-dad, sir. Chinese Wizard, sir."

"That so." Filch seems to shake himself out of his stupor, realizing that this is perhaps time better spent nursing a bottle than torturing boys who are obviously Un-Suspicious. "Be keepin' my eye on you lot, you just..watch yer step.." He slinks from the passage and into the lengthening shadows of the castle. The boys stand rooted to the spot, waiting for the last shuffles to echo away.

He's gone.

Remus lets out a slow, whistling breath he didn't know he was holding. Peter copies him almost immediately. He fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"So…Chinese New Year?" He asks it casually, as if he's not completely appalled at their very close encounter. And, apparently, Filch's faultless idiocy. Peter mumbles something incoherent.

"What was that?"

"It…was the first thing to pop into my mind. You know, Auld Lang Syne, New Year- only it's, _not,_ New Year's, you know, so- so I heard the Chinese have their own- "

"So do the Orthodox Russians and Jewish people." Peter looks at him blankly. Remus sighs. Loudly.

"They have a different cal- you know, never mind. Just, Chinese New Year is in February. And there's no Year of the _Wolf_ , but thank you for not mentioning the lycanthropy. Forever indebted, you know." Peter continues to stare, a look of consternation beginning to cloud his features. _Sometimes,_ Remus thinks _, Peter can be..sadly irritating._

"Well, anyway..onwards and upwards?" Peter nods mutely, as if hearing the unsaid words hanging between them. Remus feels his brain shuffling awkwardly in the guilt of unkind thoughts. They begin to move in what should be (but fails extraordinarily,) an ambling, confident pace to the North-East Tower.

They make slow progress, checking for passers-by and ghosts, any stray Filches or cantankerous Professors. They are on edge, gripping wands while oh-so-cooly jumping disappearing steps in the stairs, impassively anticipating changing staircases. After what seems like half an hour, but is really only six minutes, they arrive, face to face with a dour looking gargoyle.

"Password?" It says.

"Uhm," says Peter.

"Uhm," says Remus.

"Well I haven't _got_ all day. Password?"

It is at this moment that Remus realizes he has forgotten _everything_. What were they doing, why are they _here?_

"Well, sir, we haven't actually got the password, we're just here to- change it." Good old Pete, taking control of the situation. Right?

There is an enormous, pregnant pause, wherein the gargoyle glares at them with undisguised stoniness. Gratingly, it finally grunts, "Headmaster Dumbledore is the only wizard authorized to change this password."

"Well, see, that's the thing, Professor Dumbledore is- is indisposed, can't talk right now, poor so- er, poor chap, can't get _up_ right now, since he's in- in the hospital wing and, and he asked us to- change it for him, is what he asked. We're to change the password to- protect his office from, um, enemies."

"Enemies, is it?"

"Yes, yes that's what he said, enemies. Didn't elaborate much."

"I see."

"Yes," says Peter. The silence stretches again, and Remus finds he hasn't said a word and seems to be sweating profusely. He takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, prays the gargoyle hasn't got some sort of ungodly failsafe spelled into it, and opens his mouth to speak.

"Look, the thing is- "

But the gargoyle cuts him off and says, "No, do go on, you need to change the password, do you? Dreadful business, Professor Dumbledore in the hospital wing, wot?"

The silence this time is shocked, and very small, before Peter launches in again with a "Yesthanksverymuchlet'schangeitshallwe?" that seems to fall out of his mouth without much mind to grammar.

"And what shall we change it to?"

" _Marauders in aeturnum vivet_." Remus says it quickly, before he can change his mind. Predictably, Peter whirls on him, eyes wide- "Sorry, what? I thought it was supposed to be Snape-is-an-enormous-greasy-bat-that-eats-shoes-for-breakfast?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't think Dumbledore would find it that funny," Remus mumbles to the floor. "Besides I- I kind of like this one. It means 'Marauders will live forever'. Do you like it, 'Marauders'? I thought it up for us.." He's suddenly desperate for Peter's approval, for someone to agree with him on a shockingly sentimental turn of events. And if anybody should understand him, it's Peter: the two of them forever on the outside of the brilliant relationship that is James Potter and Sirius Black, and yet also _just the two of them_ , in perpetual orbit of something special. It is one part longing and three parts unadulterated happiness, to belong, all four of them, to each other in this way.

And, on some level, even though Peter is often a little slow, he understands this need, and also Remus's need to have a _name_ for the four of them, a definition to store away in his over-analyzed bookish brain. "I like it," he says, slowly, "Marauders, I mean. I _really_ like it! Have you told them yet?"

"Ahem."

The gargoyle breaks their train of thought with a well placed cough- _Can gargoyles cough?_ Peter wonders- "And so, do you know the spell to change my password? I really do have to draw the line, somewhere, you know," it says conversationally.

" _Signum Immutatius,"_ Remus murmurs, sweeping his wand past the gargoyle's beak of a nose. "There, that's done it.."

"Right, well, off you go then. The name's Jenny, by the way."

"Sorry, what?"

"Didn't think I was a boy-gargoyle, did you?"

"Uhm, no- Miss- "

"Off with you!" Jenny barks, and the boys beat a hasty retreat, footfalls echoing down the corridor.

The wall to Jenny's right begins to shimmer oddly, and Dumbledore's voice rumbles from the stone, "Nicely done, nicely done indeed!"

But Jenny is stone again, and Dumbledore chuckles to himself, murmuring, _Marauders in aeturnum vivet."_ The stone is life once more, springing to the side to let him pass, his robes a newly brilliant, sweeping blue. His long fingers brush the top of Jenny's horned head, as he whispers, _"We'll have to keep an eye on them, indeed.."_ His eyes twinkle, a sparkle of joy in the inspiration of youth.

 ****RL**PP**AB**JG****

 **April 1, 1972**

The day dawns, bright and clear, with the occasional poof of cloud whisking past the sun's ascent. Stillness reigns in the dormitory, as beams of sunlight make their airy way across the floorboards.

But never mind the clichéd beautiful morning of a big day, because it is _dinner_ the Marauders are waiting for and, try as they might, the afternoon wears by ever-so-slowly, catching its edges on spare quills and dull essays and even duller History lessons. Time creeps by, taunting them.

At the appointed time, James disappears to the kitchens, Sirius to some unknown place, and Remus and Peter find themselves at _dinner,_ anxiously staring at empty dishes and Remus picking at the sleeve of his favorite jumper.

James darts in through a side door, flitting between the students and squeezing himself in between the two of them. _"Done,"_ he hisses, and then- "Where's Sirius?"

But the whirl of speech around them has begun to change, has become a little higher-pitched, a little more prone to whoops of laughter and hysteria. As they turn to look, the source of the noise becomes evident: the large, elegant, banner depicting the Snake of Slytherin, is now showing what appears to be a crudely drawn rubber-duck with, unmistakably, the head of a very put-out looking Severus Snape. The yellow Snape seems a bit uncomfortable with himself, and tries in vain to fly off the banner.

Sirius chooses this moment to enter the hall at a run, hops up on the Gryffindor table, and begins to bow extravagantly to the now adoring crowd. The guffaws are quelled only when Remus irritably tugs him down, _"I thought it was supposed to be a duck?"_

Sirius shrugs. "Fit of inspiration, nothing for it!"

And as they begin to dig into their meal, it quickly becomes evident that the Slytherin meal has been liberally dosed with ghost peppers. Shouts of " _Aguamenti!"_ are heard in increasing desperation through the Hall.

The four of them glance at each other, goblets full of pumpkin juice, and clink them together solemnly.

" _To the Marauders!"_

They drink heavily, wiping bits of orange foam from their lips.

"So, what's on the agenda for 1973?"

 ****RL**PP**SB**JP****

They sit, twitchy, in the four purple chairs. Dumbledore sits behind the desk, judging them silently with fingers tented.

"I think two weeks of detention is fair, don't you?"

Disgruntled mutters of acquiescence buzz from their lips. There are twiddling thumbs, scraping trainers, gnawing teeth. Dumbledore's lips twitch.

"And… perhaps five points each for, shall we say..ingenuity?


	12. July 23, 1972: One Party, Two Slaps

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting! The Holidays happened, do the math. Anyhow, this chapter is for Katie, who requested something from Lily's POV. A good call, because this was originally something completely different! And, on that note, reviews and suggestions are very welcome, and _very_ helpful! Thanks again for reading! xxkat**

 **July 23, 1972**

It was Petunia's birthday today, and I'm just- _furious._ I think, because I'm really not sure how I feel right now, I just can't place it. I'm just angry at _everyone._ At Petunia because she's just a- just a _twat,_ there, I said it, and at my parents for never doing _anything_ , at Petunia's _stupid_ friends for being _enormous arseholes-_ at Sev, for scaring me.

I suppose there's nothing for it, I'll have to start at the beginning, for, let's say, posterity's sake. Or maybe one day I'll be able to read about this day, and…understand. Or maybe I'll never understand the people I love.

It was Petunia's birthday today, and she, of course, had a party. Because she _always_ has a party, and she's _always_ out, and I can never get a moment to talk with her because there's _always_ some other idiotic blonde hanging about and giggling with her. It's like she's never forgiven me for reading that letter she wrote to Dumbledore- and instead of talking about it like a _normal human being_ , she's determined to never be alone- so we can never speak. We _haven't_ spoken, besides 'bit rainy, isn't it?' and 'oh that's a pretty nail color!' and ' _pass the bleeding salt'!_ How is that even possible, after almost two years? It's as if her eyes just slide past me now, and it _hurts_ that magic- this incredible, beautiful thing that I possess, that I can manipulate-! That magic is what took my sister from me.

All her friends came round in the afternoon, and it was just a _mess_ of shrieking giggles and nail polish, and _hair rollers_ …and the boys were to come in the evening, with their slicked hair and little tweedy pants and pompous airs. _Honestly,_ it just bores me to tears! All the _posturing_ , and simpers..enough to make one gag. But anyway, I was sitting with them all in Petunia's room, while they were busy.. _preparing_ , I suppose..and reading in one of those horrible pink poofy chairs she's got in her room, and I _may_ have had my feet up on one of the other horrible chairs, and this awful toad Margaret decides to comment on the state of my unpolished toenails. Oh, horror, as if there is a worse possible thing than having unpolished, un-manicured toenails! Whatever has the world come to! So I told her that if she found a color I liked, she'd be welcome to polish them herself (and I wiggled them in a very appealing way, I'll have you know,) only to watch out for the fungus, especially on the right big toe, because it's a rather _nasty_ fungus and she wouldn't be able to get rid of it for _ages_ if she caught it from me. So, naturally, she gets this look on her face like she's swallowed a lemon whole and it's got lodged in her esophagus, and whispers something to Petunia, and _she_ gets that really pinched look around her lips that is synonymous with me. So I can get back to reading (Alice in Wonderland, if you must know,) in peace but still look like I'm 'joining in'- Mum always gets on me about that, that I could really _learn a thing or two_ etc.

I could go into all detail, but really the point of the matter is: after an afternoon of this tedious display rolling past my nose and, alright, I'll admit, some rather pointed remarks and reiterations of all types of fungus that might or might not have transferred themselves to their toenails and various other bodily parts- _the point being-_ Petunia got quite nasty. I may have pushed her too far. She slapped me. I'm not saying I didn't entirely _not_ deserve it, but she slapped me _hard._ I have a large, Petunia-hand-shaped-bruise on my left cheek.

When I'm angry, I don't explode in enormous fits of temper; I don't throw things, or shout or scream. I work myself into a _fury_ \- the bones of my spine click into a straighter position, my eyes narrow- sometimes I thank God I have red hair, because it works in my favor- and when I'm furious, it seems to stand on end. I'm sure I look frightful. I almost drew my wand- or I _would_ have, if I hadn't purposefully stored it in my shoulder bag which I've been carrying around the house and it looks _ridiculous_ \- so I had to compromise, and drew my fist back into what would've been an _epic_ punch-

But then all of Petunia's screechy little friends let out war cries I hardly would have thought possible of them, and tackled me. There was such an uproar then, with shrieks and perfectly curled hair and shredded ribbons- until Dad came in, drawn, I'm sure, by the extremely un-lady-like whoops- and pulled us all off each other, and there were many callings-of-names, and general fingers pointed in my direction. And really, it was both my _and_ Petunia's fault, I'll grant you that- but those horrid _girls!_ Anyway, when Dad sat me down for a stern talking-to- with Mum ( _this is no way for a young lady to behave!_ ), I managed to escape with a mumbled "I need to go to the loo," and a few practiced tear tracks down my cheek.

It makes me miss Hogwarts, _every summer_ I just can't wait to get back to school again- because even though Sev is here, it's just the _feel_ of being around magic, and letting its rush of warmth channel through your wand, into the air in the determined poignancy that is a spell.

I wax poetic.

Today was _not_ poetic.

I climbed out the window in the loo by standing on the toilet and I (might) have broken the towel rack in the process.

I landed in the bed of petunias my Mum covets above all others (coincidence? hardly.) and landed badly on my right ankle.

I ran down the road and over to Spinner's End in approximately seven (7) minutes, which may be a new record.

I threw a couple of those young apples Sev has in his yard at his window, which he was staring out of anyway and may or may not have made him pee his pants.

Anyway, when we'd gotten away from his house (it's so gloomy, I can never stand to stay there for mote than a couple minutes- and I don't think his Dad likes me much-) we walked over to the river. I don't know why it's our favorite spot to talk, but we go there, always, when he wants to get away from home, or when I can't take another minute of Petunia treating me like a wad of used bubblegum. We go behind that old abandoned factory- it's one of those small ones, you know, that they just never bothered to tear down and now it just slowly _rusts,_ and is quiet. No-one ever finds us there, and I don't think I've even ever seen anyone around it. Probably because it looks dangerous, and the river there is very brown and un-friendly looking and probably polluted- and really not terribly pretty.

But _we_ go there, so it's our spot.

 ****LE**SS****

"I _told_ you Sev, I'm fine, really, you know Petunia, it was just a, you know, sisterly punch-up, just a slap- she hasn't got but the one muscle in that skinny little arm anyways, I think we should name it- the muscle, I mean, not the arm- maybe Harry, or Steve-"

"Lily, there is, very clearly, a _hand_ done in red on your face, and if it's been over an hour, like you said- "

He brings his hand up to her cheek, his long, pale fingers outstretched to trace the outline marring her face- but she flinches away, tossing her loose hair over shoulder in a gesture infinite in its womanliness. His face clouds slightly, as his eyes, instead, follow the edges of the red print. She stares over the slow flow of murky water, letting her gaze drift with a stray branch snagged in the current. A strand of red curls catches in her twisting fingers.

"It's just- she's my sister, you know? I hate that she hates me. We didn't used to hate each other. It's- magic! It's magic that makes her hate me, and- and I know, really, she's just jealous! Not even that she can't stand that I have something she doesn't, we've never been like that- but that magic is, well- it's _magical_. It's brilliant, and amazing, and there are still some days when I wake up at Hogwarts and don't quite know where I am, because it all must be a dream, a fantastic, incredible dream..and I _have_ this dream, and she doesn't. It's- I know why it's hard for her, I _understand_..but it's still horrible, how she is to me!"

It bursts out of Lily with all the force of a popping balloon, the first time she has spoken these thoughts aloud. A little silence falls where Severus pulls up blades of grass; one, two, three.

"There is the possibility that she was just born awful, you know?" he says to the grass. She snorts, suddenly all twisty smiles, though her eyes sparkle a little too brightly.

"That is a possibility, you're right," she murmurs, gently laying her head on Severus's shoulder. Her curls spill over his back and obscure her face.

It's not the first time she's done something like this; whenever she's upset, or just needs the friendly comfort of physical touch, she'll hug him, or lean her forehead into his shoulder in laughter. Severus glances down at her- he can just see the freckled tip of her nose if he doesn't move his head- and considers the options. They flit through his head with absurd rapidity, latching onto the only possible solution- and he moves his arm, ever so slowly, to rest lightly across her shoulder. She burrows closer to him, and sighs. He's afraid to move, afraid that the slightest breath in the wrong direction could cause her to shift away.

"It's a good thing we're friends, Sev," she says.

A subtle breeze ripples around them, carrying unspoken words to unspoken places.

 ****LE**SS****

They walk together, down the sidewalk on that summer's day, Lily's trainers dragging on the pavement. She is the picture of Summer- short-sleeves and a fraying pair of shorts, the slight reddening of a fading sunburn hinting at her freckled nose. He is severe, almost to the extreme- with dark clothes buttoned at his wrists, trousers tapering a little too high at his ankles, long, dark hair framing the pale pallor of his face. The backs of their hands bump together as they walk, arms held ever so slightly away from their sides, that oh-so-casual trace of teenage hope and awkwardness present in every touch they share. Severus feels as if he were walking on air.

"I don't want to go back."

They listen to the dull thuds of their feet striking the pavement.

"Then why are we going?" he quips.

A _sigh_ pushes its way through her lips, whistling ever so slightly through her teeth. "Because," she says, "because, she's my sister. And I love her. And I ought to be there. For her. For her sixteenth. And maybe also because I maybe won't be grounded for _quite_ as long for breaking the loo. And the flowers."

"The flowers probably deserved it. Petunias are horrible plants. You ought to plant something with more..teeth."

"I'm sure Mum would love that, I can _just_ see myself being chained with gardening Muggle-style for the rest of the summer.."

"Only if you planted them _now_ , you see. You ought to wait till the end of August. Anyway, it's your sister you ought to be getting back at- for _that."_ He points at the finally fading edges of the handprint on her cheek. She untucks her hair from behind her ears to hide it.

They can see her house now, as the light begins to fade- the little brick fence in its yard the same as all the other houses. They finish their walk in silence, standing for a moment at the edge of the pristine yard.

"Well, come on then," she says, and opens the gate.

 ****LE**SS****

"..and you brought _him!_ Why would you bring _him_ here, he's a…a _freak!"_

The words shoot from Petunia's mouth like venom, and Lily feels that she might as well stagger back, _reel_ from the physical blow that words can impart, but instead she can feel her hackles rising, the flush of anger beginning to stain her cheeks. She can see Severus's face harden from the corner of her eye, can see his mask slide into place, and she _hates_ it, _hates_ to see him this way, and in that moment of unthinking, she ridiculously begins to rifle through that _abominable_ shoulder-bag, full of books and quills and utter _nonsense_ in an attempt to find her wand-

" Don't you _dare!_ Don't you _dare_ get that..that stick out! Don't you- " And Petunia has launched forward in a frenzy of fear, grabbing Lily's arm a little too tightly, and Lily shakes her off, rage clouding her vision and her senses-

But it's too late, because Petunia's shrieks have begun to fill her ears, the yells of the other girls matching in volume, as it becomes clear that Severus has unleashed a terrible, back-handed slap on Petunia's cheek, a long-fingered outline matching that of Lily's. The corner of her lip has split; the slimmest trickle of blood dots the paleness of her skin.

The noise fades away as, softly, Severus whispers, "Quid pro quo," in a voice born of fury and anguish, of indignation and the finality of judgement against any and all persecutors of those who are different.

He stiffens, as if realizing what, exactly, he has done, eyes wide in shock, before darting for the door, wrenching at the handle, and disappearing from sight.

 ****LE**SS****

..And, the thing is, I don't know if I'll _ever_ be able to forgive him.


	13. October 31, 1972: A Case of Hallowe'en

**A CASE OF HALOWE'EN**

 **October 31, 1972**

 **7:42 AM**

The floorboard creaks. Ever so slightly. The socked feet pause, carefully, feeling their way around the disgruntled floorboard. They are tentative, and trying with utmost sincerity to be sneaky.

The feet stop.

James is awake. He has been awake since the first _creak_ hit his ears, because it is Halloween, and he knows: this means _anything could happen._

It also probably means that Sirius is about to pounce- in an effort to be, how shall we put it- _surprising_. To be the first one to greet James's waking moments; to be generally exuberant on this, _All Hallows' Eve_.

The feet pick up speed, softly. The moment of impact is nigh- James braces himself- _any moment now-_ it comes, and James shrieks his battle cry into Sirius's ears, leaping up at him and commencing the scramble of fists and hair and raised voices that seems to follow them everywhere.

" _Nnaughhh!"-_ this one from Remus- is less expected, as he leaps into the fray, surprisingly alert. The bed groans at the addition of a third vaulting body. At which point Peter, who has somehow managed to stay asleep until this very moment, pushes back his hangings, shuffles over to the ball of limbs, and throws himself in with a scream of " _Infidels!"_

It is a curious thing that boys revel in the expending of pointless energy to such a degree. A fight- or this might be more aptly named a _Tussle-_ often occurs over a stolen piece of chocolate, an insult to one's generally adolescent manliness, or for No Good Reason. The point, however, seems to be in the joy of connecting fists with faces, of spending this overabundance of wildness in the most primitive way possible. Boys will be boys, and, in the case of the Marauders- they are very much boys.

And in this revelation that, inevitably, Remus is the one to have, in the midst of flailing fingers and banged elbows and musky armpits- he is dealt a good one from James's foot into his stomach- _oof!_ \- and falls hard onto the floor.

"Alright there, Moony!"

James's head pokes over the side of the bed, looking down at him concernedly. His face looks too small without his glasses.

"Your head is too small without glasses," says Remus, "and my arse hurts."

"You're _incorrigible."_ James says, flopping onto his stomach and hanging off the edge.

"Awfully big word for a Saturday morning, Potter," Sirius has joined him, peering down at Remus, who has stretched himself out, stomach down, on the hard wood floor, and is massaging his offended posterior.

"Got it from Remus,"

"Eh? How's that?"

"He keeps a list of _Big Words Intended for Conversation_ , didn't you know?"

"Ooooh, oh oh oh, this does explain a lot,"

"Hang on, I've locked that in my jou- have you been going in my desk! That's _private-!_ "

"Oh, of course it is, I hadn't noticed-"

"Hang on, did Pettigrew _go back to sleep?"_

"He _did! Un_ believable! Oi, Pete! Wake up, you silly sausage! It's _Halloween!"_

"Nnrgh."

"OI! PETE! Wake UP!"

Peter is rolled unceremoniously off the side of the bed and onto Remus. The sound of groans fills the dormitory.

 ****JP**SB**RL**PP****

 **9:12 AM**

Sirius paces once, twice, thrice, in front of the blank stretch of wall. The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy leers down at him from opposite, offering nonsense by way of greeting.

"How many times has he got to do that?" wonders Peter aloud.

"Shh! He's concentrating!"

"I can _see_ that, but I still don't understa-"

A door pops into existence. Sirius quits his pacing, his face a picture of excitement and eagerness. Remus comes to stand at his side, jumper-clad shoulders brushing against him. They take a moment together, appreciating the brilliance that is _Magic._

James lets out a long, low whistle from between his teeth, incredibly grateful that his Dad had finally saw fit to share the secrets of Hogwarts with him. "Bit by bit," he had said, "One secret at a time. That way, you'll _appreciate_ each and every one." And then, when the owl had come this morning..

Sirius has reached out a tentative, reverent hand to the door, Remus bobbing in his wake, _open it, open it!_ \- and in the door swings, ever so gently. The boys crowd through, breaths caught in their throats-

And it truly is a thing of wonder.

" _Happy Halloween!"_ Sirius finally manages. A banner echoes his thoughts, unfurling across the ceiling, _Happy Hallowe'en!_

The room has decked itself magnificently, stuffed to the brim with enough costumes to make even the most disinterested of us weep with the need to _touch_ , to _try,_ to _see._ Mummy's linens line a far corner amid buckets and pouches of what looks suspiciously like blood but, Remus hopes, just _can't_ be- knick-knacks and odd paraphernalia of every possible disguise crowd into overflowing dressers. Clanking suits of armor for those not afraid to be inserted into eighty pounds of metal stand tall amongst Medieval trappings, rich velvets to attire royalty flow over the floor, little ermine tails dangling from capes- bows and arrows adorn a near wall along with decorative feathers and tiny loin-cloths, for the not-so-faint of heart.

"This is bloody brilliant," Peter says, echoing all of their thoughts. There are mute nods of agreement, as the four of them spread across the room, odd exclamations of excitement and admiration bursting from their lips. Peter has quickly loaded a couple of very heavy looking gold chains across his chest, pausing in front of the mirror to admire the effect. James pulls on a lurid purple velvet hat, complete with an enormous ostrich feather, while Sirius fingers a rusty looking tiara with a large blue gem encrusted into an eagle. "Think this might have something to do with Ravenclaw?" he calls to James.

"Dunno! What, are you going to wear _that!.._ Ooh, I know you could be Rowena Ravenclaw!" James says enthusiastically, coming over to inspect it. Sirius looks doubtful, and the moment is thankfully broken by a muffled exclamation from the other side of the room.

Remus has been trailing his fingers across the hundreds of beautiful costumes, fingering furs and crinolines, touching waistcoats and brass buttons and tarnished pocket watches when he spies it. " _Oh!"_ he yelps, and sprints across the room. There they are, hanging innocuously from an antique hat stand- the tidy black bowler and the tweedy deerstalker. He is in raptures, as he reverently removes the hats, placing the bowler carefully on his head, while crossing the room to stand in front of Sirius.

"What's this?" Sirius asks, James and Peter looking curiously on as Remus's grin grows obscenely. _Honestly, pure-bloods!_

"You _do_ know, I made you read it last summer- and anyway-" he shoves the deerstalker into Sirius's chest- "You're Sherlock Holmes, wear the damn hat!"

 ****SB**RL**JP**PP****

"But why does _he_ get to be Sherlock Holmes?" grumbles James, as he flicks through the racks of costumes. He's a little irked that it was Remus to seize on the idea of matching costumes first, it's _him_ and Sirius that are best mates anyway, and it sometimes bothers him- childishly, he knows- when Remus is the one to seize Sirius's attention.

"Because he's read it, and you haven't. And anyway, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have glasses."

"That's not a reason!"

"Well _I_ had the idea, and I think Sirius makes more sense as Holmes. ..Sorry, though, we could- I dunno, we could all four be Musketeers..?" Remus feels slightly bad, he really does, but he also knows that this is _finally_ the chance he's been dreaming about ever since he stuck his over-large nose into a book of Conan Doyle's at a very young age, he's got the _whole day_ to dress up in over-stuffed Victorian sensibilities which are, truthfully, what his head is mostly attuned to. He twirls his enormous fake moustache outrageously, and fingers the pocket watch in his waistcoat pocket. It's horribly pleasing, and he can't stop the twitchy smile that creeps across his face, whiskers tickling his lips.

"No, no, by all means.." James says sulkily, before- "OH, I know. I know! This Halloween, there are going to be _rules."_

"You can't be serious, James, _rules-!_ It's not the Marauder way-" Sirius says indignantly, pulling on his ridiculous cape.

"Oh but it's _Remus's_ way, isn't it? Remus _adores_ rules, just laps them up- and anyway, it'll be more of a contest. With rules. Anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You and Remus against me and Peter. And Peter and I will be…" James casts around the room for inspiration, and seizes on a tunic with a large cross on. A very kingly-looking crown is perched at a lopsided-angle nearby. "…King Arthur! And his…squire. Squire? Unless you have a Knight you'd rather be, Pete? Gawain? Galahad? ..Lancelot?"

"No no, Squire is fine, Squire is good," Peter agrees happily.

"So it will be…Courage against Cleverness! See who can save more damsels, clear more cases, by Feast-time? Muggle way, of course."

" _Muggle_ way-!"

"They're Muggle ideas, what are you going to do!"

"Fine. It's a deal. You're only going off to impress Evans anyway, I can feel it."

"So what if I am?"

Peter clears his throat. Remus looks _much_ too pleased with himself, and Holmes is, inevitably, sulking.

"James, I just thought- well, you know, King Arthur needs a horse, and, well-" Peter gestures helplessly to the center of the room, where a very large, black and rather evil looking stallion has appeared. James utters a little squeak. The horse thumps its hooves against the stone-flagged floor, glaring menacingly at them. This particular horse, it seems, has got it In For Them- _all_ of them, and would presumably rather be munching on hay. Or it's possible that _this_ horse has got razor-sharp teeth and would rather be munching on _them_ \- you could really never know with the Room _._

"Erm, ok, good idea Pete, but maybe- maybe a bit- big? Too big, yeah, too easy to squash cowardice when you're mounted on that great hulking beast..more scared of the horse than of..consequences.." James ends in mumbles, looking anywhere but in the eyes of the brute, who is staring daggers at him in a way very uncharacteristic of a horse. "Ok, how about- how's about a pony then, eh? Or-"

"Or a donkey?" Peter puts in. They are greeted with the pathetic sight of a long-suffering donkey to replace the imposing stallion. It eyes them woefully and sighs.

"I am _not_ going around Hogwarts on that thing!" The donkey gives them one more reproachful look before disappearing. Sirius has abandoned all pretense of a straight face and is laughing so hard his face is beginning to dot with tears.

"Sirius, _stop_ , we've got the best costumes ever and- we can't ruin it! I just need-"

"Oh! James, I know- "

"Another brilliant idea, Pete?"

Peter scurries across the room to retrieve what looks like two brown, hairy, cylindrical..things.

"What are- "

"See!" Peter says, "They're coconuts! We just, bang 'em together, like this- " he demonstrates, striking the two sides of the divided coconut together- "and it sounds just like a horse, and that way, see, we don't actually _need_ a horse!"

Holmes and Watson slide to the floor in a fit of giggles. Alas for Victorian dignity.

 ****JP**PP**SB**RL****

"Alright then, chaps: the Feast is at Half Six, we have approximately..eight and a half hours to reconvene and share results."

"And no magic."

"And no magic. Unless Snape is involved."

"Well, yes, _obviously_. Or if one of us is in..dire straits."

"But _only_ if."

"Do you know, I'm really very impressed with your rule-making skills. Who'd've thunk it, King Arthur and Sherlock Holmes..collaborating?"

"Shut it, Moony, this was _your_ idea- "

"No, it was really James. Truly. Honestly."

"..Fair point. Well then, may the best duo win!"

"To Chivalry and Courage!"

"To the Science of Deduction!"

"I bid you, my fair fellows, adieu!"

"The game, I think, is afoot! _"_

 ****JP**SB**RL**PP**

 **Estimated Time to Feast: 08:30**

"Where to first, O Squire?"

"Well seeing as I'm the squire and you're the King..isn't that more up to you?"

"Right you are, Pete. I suppose we just..roam the countryside for unabashed villains or distressed maidens? Or both?"

"Well, there's Xeno Lovegood right there, we could start with him."

"Ah! A charity case! Good man, Pete. I say, good sir! What seems to be amiss!"

Xenophilius Lovegood has appeared, serendipitously, at the end of the corridor. He stands, as erect as he ever is- which is to say, never- with bedraggled dirty blond hair tied back with a bit of cord, his wand tucked behind his ear, and disheveled robes which seem to be in a constant state of motion. In another time, another place, he might have easily been mistaken for homeless; it is lucky that our friend is a wizard and as such, will never have to make do without his wand. He eyes the pair balefully, dressed as they are a bit ridiculously in chain mail, tunics, crown and coconuts. His focus lands, without hesitation, on the coconuts in Peter's hands.

"What're those?" he asks. Really, it couldn't be any other way.

"They're coconuts, we're- we're using them to bang together, they sound a lot like a horse, see- " _clip clap, clip clap._

"No we _aren't_ , Pete, put those away- "

"Ah, I see, you must be King Arthur."

"Well, yes, and this is my faithful servant- "

"-squire- "

"-squire- Peter."

Xenophilius sweeps a magnificent bow to them, all swishing robes and perfect submission to the King- but then his head pops up and the effect is ruined.

"I say, but how'd you get the coconut? That's a tropical fruit, and I don't think the house elves are very keen on non-British foods." He's produced a notebook from seemingly nowhere, and his eyes have narrowed to little slits of concentration. There is a quill balanced between his slender fingers, and he looks as if he might actually pounce. "For the school paper, you know- readers want the _truth._ Where'd you get the coconut?"

James gulps. It's not as if they're doing anything _wrong_ , it's just a coconut, they're _just_ King Arthur and Faithful Squire- but there is a hint of asperity in Xeno's stance, and he realizes that one day- and in fact, on _this_ day- it would be a Very Bad Thing to be on the wrong end of his quill. And, the Room..! What an awful thing it would be, on the very day of its re-discovery, to let the _whole school_ in on it's fantastic secret. So James swallows and, for once in his life, turns to Peter for inspiration- and Peter, sensing this, rises to the task.

"Well, see, the, the coconut, it isn't native to Britain, is it? But it _is_ tropical."

"So you're saying you found a coconut in the school?" asks Xeno, as he twirls his quill menacingly.

"Well, it's possible something brought it to the grounds- say, a dragon, or a bird of some sort- "

"Are you suggesting that the coconut was brought along with a migrating creature, or are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?"

Peter flounders. Wide eyes from James indicate he is _on the right track._ Inspiration comes in wild torrents, as his mind grasps at ideas like a fish gasping for water. _This is really Remus's job_ , he thinks, and it is not helpful.

"Well- well this _is_ a temperate zone, obviously, how _else_ would you suggest it got here?"

"But there are no dragons on the grounds."

"Not that we _know_ of. And anyway, it doesn't have to be a dragon, it could be a- for instance, a swallow, swallows _are_ known to migrate, you know- "

"A swallow carry a coconut! Look, no, it's not possible- "

 _Nothing for it now, go for it, Pete, go on, quickly, before you deflate-_ "And why not?"

"Because a swallow is about eight inches long and is generally _tiny,_ that's why, and a coconut- well, look at it!"

"It could grip it by the husk- "

"It's not a matter of where it's being _gripped_ , it's simply a matter of weight-ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut!"

Peter is out of his depth. He knows it. James knows it. _Xeno_ knows it. A glance at James, and they begin to back away slowly, surreptitiously. Xeno inches closer, the tip of his quill glinting maliciously in the nonexistent light.

"Look, to maintain velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings four-hundred-ninety-three times a second- "

"Two sparrows! I mean, swallows, two swallows..!" Peter shouts it over his shoulder, banging the coconuts together wildly, as they retreat down the corridor, _Run away, run away!_

 **Mission: FAILED.**

 **Status: King Arthur and Squire: 0**

 **Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: 0**

 ****JP**PP****

 **Estimated Time to Feast: 07:43**

They are making a list. Which doesn't exactly bode well for Holmes and Watson, because I can't recall a single time in the books where Dr. Watson turns around and says, "I say, Holmes, I've a splendid idea- why don't we make a list of all possible crimes taking place at this very moment in London?" And Holmes replies, "Why, what an astonishing idea, my dear Watson; what a pity it is we haven't made more use of those excellent brains of yours before."

No. Sir Conan Doyle had none of that. Which is why it is in exceptionally bad taste to place our two would-be heroes, Remus and Sirius, Watson and Holmes, in the Gryffindor common room making a list of All Possible Crimes Taking Place At This Very Moment In Hogwarts. But there you have it: Remus will prevail where he chooses, and sadly for Sirius, they are horribly out of character. Thus, it goes to follow:

"I am bored. Booooorrrrred. I wish I had, you know, one of those muggle contraptions that starts with a bang and ends up sometimes killing people. I could use it to decorate the wall. The wall needs more decoration, it's a bit- _dull_ , wouldn't you say?"

"Quiet, Sirius, I'm almost finished." Remus pokes his tongue between his teeth in consternation, dripping ink blots onto the parchment.

"Is this what you dragged me into? _List_ making? Did Holmes and Watson _list_ people to death?"

"No, they solved crimes you idiot- and anyway, this will be useful. Once I've…finished it."

"I don't remember a single time in those books where they made lists. They deduced. And Watson, as I recall, sort of…puttered along. _I_ ought to be in charge of this mission!"

"Have you got any better ideas?"

" _Loads._ Loads, Moony, _anything_ is better than this!"

Remus sits back in his chair, and suddenly he is all business. He crosses his ankles, and tweaks his moustache. "Well Holmes? Surely you must have some..theory?"

"Ohhhhh this is how we're playing, is it? Here, give me the bloody list.." Sirius grabs it from Remus's hands, earning him a reproachful glance. He looks down at the parchment.

It says:

 _James is probably beating up Severus over Lily._

And nothing else.

For the space of two heartbeats, Remus twirls his moustache a little manically. _I really must get myself some facial hair._

"That's _it?!_ Moony, we've been here a _half hour_ , and this is all you've got?! Sod this, let's go- "

" _Where_ though? It's a lot harder to actually find, you know, _crimes_ afoot in Hogwarts than it is to talk about- I hadn't exactly thought it through- "

"Isn't that what Watson is _for,_ to think things _through?"_

Sirius has bounced from his seat, and is leaping the stairs up to the dormitory in quick succession, Remus at his heels. "Why are we going up- " Remus begins, but stops when he crashes into Sirius standing, as he is, in the doorway to their room. He has done this because Frank Longbottom is kneeling in front of Sirius's trunk, digging through it furiously with his bare arse stuck up in the air.

There is a little pause, where they stand with furrowed brows and heads cocked in either direction, eyeing Frank's stodgy little bum as it waves about. Clothes are being torn from the trunk; Frank finds a pair of underpants, sniffs it, and throws it over his shoulder with an exclamation of disgust.

"Anything I can help you with there, Frank?"

Frank jerks upright, turning on the spot, the flush from his cheeks carrying down to his neck. He has clutched his hands instinctively over his nether-regions, and wafts of embarrassment emanate from him, until curiosity gets the better of him, and-

"Hang on, what're you wearing?"

Sirius, that Master of all things imperious, has gathered Holmes to himself as if in the space of a breath- all heightened lengths and a way of looking down his nose, which all of a sudden seems rather thin. "I could say the same," he says sharply. It is enough to make the blush covering Frank's face and neck extend to his torso. "I could, of course, _ask_ what you are doing in my trunk, but I find it would be irrelevant. It is obvious to me that someone has stolen your clothes."

"Well, _yeah,_ excellent observation there- "

" _And_ all of the subsequent fourth year boy's garments. Am I to assume you were all in the shower..together?"

Frank reddens. Considerably. Even more. "Well, no-o-oo, it was a laugh, really, see we had this idea-"

"Stop! Please; do not insult me with your words, they're putting me off anyway. And I know the predicament _and_ the culprit already. Oh, Moony- Watson- this is fun, I've already solved one!"

"What- but- _how?_ All we've got to go on is the fact that he's in his birthday suit!"

Sirius smirks. It is insufferable, and Remus begins to regret his decision to make Sirius into Holmes. "Isn't it obvious? Look, he's naked, _why is he naked?_ "

"He said they were- all- in the baths, God knows why- "

"No, he's lying, look at his hair, why's his hair wet if his body isn't? Look at him, why isn't he dripping? "

"So how…"

"Frank, if you'll excuse me- " Sirius steps forward quickly, slamming the trunk shut- "Next time you brew a Disintegrating potion _do_ try and keep a better lid on it. Or, here's a thought, _an actual cauldron_ and not some completely imbecilic container- "

"Oh- it was plastic- like the Muggles use, yeah, might've been a bit stupid.." Frank is staring at them bemusedly, shuffling around and trying to find a way to stand so his bits won't show. He makes a movement to scratch his head, but thinks better of it.

" _Plastic!.._ Watson, what's plastic, hurry up now- "

"Um, it's a material that Muggles use- "

"Yes, yes, alright, and therefore astonishingly inferior to a _cauldron_. The stupidity is astounding."

"Well, it was just a for a laugh, see- "

Sirius gives Frank a withering look, and he falls silent. He seizes him by the elbow and says, steering him towards the door, "Unfortunately, our clothes are not available for your attire, and as such I suggest you avail yourself of the many owls in this castle to order yourself a new set of robes. Off you go, good day." And closes the door in Frank's very red face.

"Sirius, I still don't quite- "

"Holmes."

"Holmes, then- what about the hair, why was it wet and not the rest of him?"

"Oh, the potion exploded, didn't you know? There were specks of that plaaastic? Well, that muggle material- in his hair- and anyway, how else would his hair get wet, but not the rest of his body?"

"Then why isn't his hair.."

"Do keep up, Watson, this was embarrassingly simple. Look, the potion was obviously deviated in a way intended for the breakdown of fabric fibers- probably intended for some joke shop, nice idea, by the way- because if it was ingested and it made _everything_ disintegrate, you can imagine how that might be problematic- or maybe just the hair- oh now _that's_ a splendid idea, Watson, write that one down."

 **Mission: ACCOMPLISHED**

 **Status: King Arthur and Squire: 0**

 **Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: 1**

 ****SB**RL****

 **Estimated Time To Feast: 04:43**

A knife goes whizzing past his ear, clattering to the ground after the blade scores the stone wall behind him. As diminutive as a house elf is, apparently they have steely arms full of strength and finesse.

"My good people!" shouts King Arthur, from behind the overturned table he and his Faithful Squire have set up in defense, "I am merely propositioning your freedom from _slavery!_ You are being _oppressed_ , don't you see it? Oh hello, Toogo, sorry about that last body-bind.."

Toogo gives an indignant squeak, and a volley of ladles is sent as acknowledgment.

"James-" pants Peter.

"My Liege will do."

"Right, My Liege! My Liege, since when do we give a flying hippogriff about elf's rights!"

"Well, I suppose we really don't-" - there is a whoop, and a hail of carving knives fly past the legs of the table; they duck and shield heads faces with their arms- "But _King Arthur_ would, he's valiant and chivalrous and all that and- look we really haven't had any better ideas-"

"Do you think THIS is a good idea, My Liege!"

"We are doing a Good Thing! Did you bring the socks?"

"Well, yeah, but.."

"Give them here, Squire."

The battle cries of the infuriated elves have reached peak pitch. This may have something to do with the batch of custard creams that King Arthur and Co. ruined with overly gallant attempts to overthrow the autocracy which, as it turns out, the elves were supremely unconcerned with and _much_ more infuriated with the delectable pile of sweets now laying overridden in the floury dust of the room. O for the sweet mouths of Hogwarts Students, who would have relished these delectable little gems!

James and Peter have divided the socks between them, rolled them into balls (after much deliberation on how exactly to ball a sock,) and are steeling themselves to the seemingly unending onslaught of kitchen utensils. Thankfully it seems that the knives have been spent, with only the teaspoons remaining.

"Right, on the count of three, then?"

"Right. Wait- not four, or two, but three being the number?"

"Three being the number."

"Five is right out."

"Look, I said _three_ didn't I? Three being the number!"

"Three being the number!"

"One…."

"…Two…"

"…THREE!…"

And with yells moste fearsome did the Plucky King Arthur and his Faithful Squire, in the name of Elf Rights, stand themselves erect from behind the wobbly table; and they did lobbest the socks into the sea of angry little elf faces, thus liberating all of them that did catch the socks, with woeful cries moste stringent upon our Noble Chap's ears.

 **Mission: DEBATABLE**

 **(Let it be marked in the tomes of History that on this day, 31 October 1972, the House Elves of Hogwarts lodged an official complaint to the Headmaster as to the behavior of the students. This, being the first ever recorded complaint by House Elves, was justly included in the updated edition of Hogwarts: a History.)**

 **King Arthur and Faithful Squire: 1/2**

 **Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: 1**

 ****JP**PP****

 **Estimated Time To Feast: 04:12**

"Well I think that went fairly well."

"Indeed it did."

"Although I've no idea of where that goat came from."

"It was quite coincidental."

"The Universe is rarely so lazy, Watson; that goat was planted."

"Was it now?"

"I thought it was…fairly obvious. Use your brains, Moony, you can't be _that_ stunningly un-observant."

"You know, I'm getting quite sick of this act."

"And why, pray tell?"

"Because..that! THAT! Because it's all arrogance and none of the deductive skill! I don't know how you're actually solving anything- "

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"You're being incredibly rude, and obnoxious, and…and a bloody wanker! Just because _you're_ Holmes- and I can't believe I nominated you for that- and I'm Watson, doesn't give you the right to treat me-"

"Well, look, it's in the books, right? Holmes treats Watson like utter crap, but they're inseparable. It's _written!_ Go blame the author."

"Oh yes, that's all very well, let's blame the author- and by the way what a _memory_ and _deductive style_ you've got all of a sudden, hm? Where did that come from?"

"It's photographic, you know."

"No it isn't, Sirius."

"I am a brain, Watson- the rest of me is a mere appendix. Do not question my methods," says Sherlock Holmes, and waggles his eyebrows outrageously.

 **Mission: ACCOMPLISHED**

 **(Apparently, though go ask the goat how he feels about the situation.)**

 **King Arthur and Faithful Squire: 1/2**

 **Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: 2**

 ****SB**RL****

Lily wrenches the doors open and darts into the chilly evening, bereft as it is of light. She runs, as she has never run before, as if there is something great and terrible nipping at her heels, something dark and full of malice following her footsteps.

It's only Severus, of course- but she's not really sure about Severus, not anymore. And now here he was, _chasing_ her, all because she refused to speak to him! Her instinct to run had come out of nowhere; as she had seen his approach, and his every intent of coming to terms with her. _This is it_ , she thinks.

 ****LE****

 **Estimated Time To Feast: 02:02**

"Ah, Miss McGooglyface, I presume?"

Professor McGonagall's lips tighten into that thin, flat line that Sirius is overly familiar with. Remus holds his breath, as he is seldom on the receiving end of this particular expression.

Her lips twitch. She clears her throat.

" _Professor_ McGoo- McGo- Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Black." Points of pink appear high on her cheeks.

Sirius arches one brow deliciously, all coolness and arrogance. "I confess I am perplexed, Madam- Gryffindor? And I am Mr. Holmes, consulting detective. Extraordinaire." _Good God, he'll kill us all._

It is a lucky thing that dear McGoogles does, after all, have a heart fond of mischief, behind that dispassionate exterior- you can see it in the barely-there twinkle in her eyes. It is debatable, however, whether Sirius has the ability to stop when he's _on a roll_ , as it were.

"You do look rather smashing today," says Sirius, and the twinkle vanishes. Remus kicks him. Hard.

"Right," Dr. Watson says, "To the point. We have become aware that your hat has gone missing."

"This is correct, Mr. Lupin- might you be able to inquire as to it's whereabouts on my behalf? I would be most indebted." She has sat down behind her desk, shuffling through papers and barely sparing them a glance.

"Please," smirks Remus, "Call me Dr. Watson."

 ****SB**RL****

Estimated Time To Feast: 01:43

"There are two features of interest in this case,"

"Which are?"

"Well, she wasn't concerned, for one- "

"She's probably got loads of spare ones, she can't wear the same one _all_ the time- "

"Do shut up."

Remus wants to hit Sirius, but tamps the impulse succinctly, instead forcing himself to ask, "And what was the second…feature of interest?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Remus's fingers twitch.

 ****SB**RL****

He had spotted her, alone, loitering in the corridor, as if by perfect serendipity. He has missed her, these past months. She hasn't spoken a word to him, no matter how many times he has tried, not since that awful run in with her wretched sister- and it _kills_ him, that what he did, what he could not have helped doing at that moment, could cause such a rift between them. He regrets it, he loathes what he did in a fit of anger and, it's true, it was outrageous and excessive and probably unforgivable. But in the small, niggling recesses of his mind, he can't be sorry: because nobody could ever, _should_ ever speak to Lily that way.

So when he sees her, miraculously alone, he knows that his eyes are a bit wild and his strides forceful. He can see her look at him, see her face bloom in panic, _Merlin, that exquisite face,_ and, like a doe that knows it is being hunted, succumb to flight.

His face crumples, then rearranges itself into a mask of cool indifference- though his feet betray him, carrying him swiftly down the steps, after Lily.

 ****SS****

 **Estimated Time To Feast: 01:38**

" _Look_ , you are _not_ Sherlock Holmes! Get over yourself, Sirius, _honestly-"_

"Don't talk out loud, Moony, you're lowering the IQ of the entire floor."

 ****SB**RL****

 **Estimated Time to Feast: 01:33**

"Sirius, look- do you actually have any idea how we'll find her hat? Any _leads_ , or whatever you call them, hm?"

"Malfoy took it."

"And how in _God's_ name would you know that!"

"A moment, I'm working it out- some silence right now would be marvelous. Look at you, you look so vacant- why don't you _think_ , Moony, _think!"_

" _Right!_ That is _it!_ I have _had it!_ " Remus rips off his moustache and stalks off in the direction of the dormitory.

"Oh, come back, you idiot! Just getting into the spirit, is all!"

" _Wanker!"_ comes the distant response.

 ****RL**SB****

 **Estimated Time To Feast: 0:37**

" 'M sorry, lads, but there en't a bit 'o trouble out here, nothin' tha' I can't handle, tha' is."

" 'S alright, Hagrid, just thought we'd check..we're having a contest, see, and..had a bit of a run-in with the house elves.."

" 'Yer didn' make 'em mad, did yer? Right beastly little fellows they are, when they's mad at summat.."

"Er, no, no Hagrid, we didn't. Right, well, cheerio then.."

"Yeh two look a sight, though! King Arthur and…who're you again, Peter?"

"His Faithful Squire."

"Right, right.. well, ye'd best hurry up, the Feast is in a half hour!"

"Thanks, Hagrid, we'll see you there! Happy Halloween!"

They leave quietly, disappointed in the lack of distressed creatures they had hoped to find near Hagrid's hut, of the Forbidden Forest, or _anywhere_ on the grounds.

"They'll win," says Peter, morosely.

"Maybe not," says James, but he doesn't really believe it. He's not sure if he's had the best Halloween of his life either, and he's _definitely_ sure that he is tired, and could use a nap.

They trudge in silence up the path to the castle, each lost in their own thoughts. Their costumes have become a little battered in the escapade with the House Elves, and Peter is sporting a mild, though ugly-looking cut over his eye. There is a hint of the setting sun still present at the edges of the fast-approaching night, a light but penetrating wind stealing through their tunics, forcing them to fold their arms closer to their bodies. The forgotten coconuts bang together sullenly where they have been tied to Peter's hip, setting the rhythm of their walk. There is no other way around it, _What a waste of Halloween!,_ and James considers just going back to the Room and seeing what else it might yield.

The silence is broken to pieces with a shriek, and the shouts of two people- one male, one female. The boys look at each other, all lethargy dropping from them with the possibility of a chance to prove themselves, get the better of _those two._ Their eyes meet and, as one, they charge up the path, towards the source of the noise.

 ****JP**PP****

"Lily!" Severus shouts after her, desperation present in his voice. She is close; her white limbs glint in the semi-darkness of the waxing moon. The adrenaline pumps through his veins, the burn spreads through his legs. At the crest of the hill, he reaches her- arm extended, he grasps her elbow, stopping her short and pulling her close- and inevitably, she shrieks at him, pushing him away, two hands on his chest, "How _could_ you!"

"Lily, I- "

" _No_ , Severus! You _hit my sister!_ Who _does_ that, what is _wrong_ with you!"

"Lily, just- "

"No, you _listen!"_ She shrills the words to the coming Halloween night, fury blazing her cheeks, hair wild and on end in the wind. Severus stands, wheezing slightly, unsure of himself, unsure of why they have reached such a fever pitch- but he knows as surely as he knows his name that this is not just about that sister: there is something much larger at stake.

She takes a breath, a deep sighing gasp full of air: "You had every opportunity this summer. To apologize. In any way. _But you didn't._ No, listen- " She puts up her hand- "Don't talk. What you did was inexcusable, you _knew_ we had to work this out in our own way, but not only did you interfere, you gave her a bloody lip! In my parent's house! In front of _people!_ You _hurt her._ Can you imagine, for just one moment, what that must be like? What she must have felt, how it is now completely impossible for her to even acknowledge my existence? You have _ruined_ this relationship for me, utterly! And then, and then! Not a word from you, and what do I see, you hanging around _Mulciber and Lestrange_ of all bloody people! They're _awful,_ you can't _stand_ them, Severus, you're- you're not like them, don't you see! I don't know you anymore!"

"Lily, I've been- since we got back, I've been- Lily, I'm sorry! Truly!"

She makes a noise in her throat that is a little less wild, and a little more _yeah, right._

"No, look at me- I'm sorry. I'm beyond sorry, I- I've missed you so much, and I- I didn't know what to say, _how_ to say- and you kept on- not talking- "

"Severus, if you were sorry, you would've found a way to tell me."

"Look, I- Lily." His knees bend slowly, falling to the earth. "Please. I'm truly sorry and- Mulciber and Lestrange- I- _don't_ like them, I was..lonely. Please, Lily I- "

"OI!"

And over the rise of the hill, panting slightly and followed by a marginally round squire, comes King Arthur. It is the worst possible moment to be caught as he is, on his knees, begging forgiveness to a _girl._ He knows it's already too late, Potter will always remember this and never, _ever_ let him forget it. Severus launches to his feet in one swift motion, shoots a miserable look at Lily- _I'm so sorry-_ and turns away, tracing the dark path back to the castle.

 _I know what it's like, Lily, to be ridiculed, to be mocked, to be the butt of every joke. I know what it's like to be beaten and to have others look on, and do nothing. I know what it's like to be dealt pain, and to deal it in return. I know what it's like to hurt you, and I will never do it again._

"OI, come back here, you…mangy…cur!" roars Peter, as he puffs after Severus, coconuts banging wildly.

Lily looks after them with tight lips and regret written on her face. James mops the back of his hand across his brow, wiping away the little droplets of sweat which running up the hill afforded him. "Phew! You alright, Evans? Was that you shrieking away?"

She whirls on him, and it is suddenly very clear that she wants nothing to do with him. "Oh, Potter, why are you _always_ lurking? I can take care of myself," she says, wearily. She looks the worse for wear, and her eyes are shining a little too brightly, her voice edged in a slightly hysterical tremor. "And _what_ in Merlin's name have you got on? Were those _coconuts_ I saw Peter banging about?"

James reddens. "I'm King Arthur," he says. "Will you be my damsel in distress?" _Wrong answer,_ he knows it immediately but it seemed to have tripped off his tongue in some excuse for a very distant hope.A swiftly dealt kick in the shin is his reward, _ow ow ow_ , before she turns and marches off down the path.

 ****LE**SS**JP**PP****

 **Estimated Time To Feast: 0:35**

Inevitably, Sirius has gone to find Malfoy, on the off chance that he did really take it. _It's too easy,_ he thinks, as he stalks his prey- classically flattened against the wall, inching his way to the corner, where he can hear Malfoy speaking to an unknown second, in whispers a bit too loud for a scheming conversation. They are _very_ bad at this, Sirius thinks, as he pokes his head surreptitiously around the corner. There it is, McGonagall's hat, in all it's hat-ly glory, being pawed at by Lucius Malfoy. _What in the name of Merlin was he doing?_

"There has to be _one_ hair in here, just one- that old bat must be one-hundred-and-three, there is no way she isn't losing any of her hair."

"We've been over it a million times, she must have a spell on that idiotic bun of hers so it won't shed, or something- "

" _There must be a hair!_ " Lucius snarls. _This is way, way too passionate for a Halloween prank,_ Sirius thinks. But Malfoy continues: "They'll have our heads, you imbecile, if we _don't bring them something!_ "

"We'll just- I don't know, have to find another way, there's nothing here!"

Predictably, this is the moment when Lucius angles his head _just so_ , and spies Sirius's nose poking from around the corner. Alarm registers in his eyes with incredible speed; his wand is whipped from his robes- but Sirius is one step ahead of him, _"Accio McGonagall's Hat!",_ and with the enraged cries of the two behind him, he takes off down the corridor, the coveted garment clasped tightly in his sweaty fingers, with the wind at his heels.

 ****SB****

There is a rap at the door.

"Are you expecting anyone, Minerva?" says Dumbledore, as he peers from over the top of his spectacles at the classroom upkeep chart she has drawn up for him. She sighs, barely containing her annoyance, and pushes her glasses farther up her nose.

"Oh, it's those wretched boys, I expect- I dare say they've found my purloined hat. Come in!"

Sirius nearly falls over himself on opening the door, slamming it shut with much more force than necessary and slumping against it, recovering his labored breath. There are two dull thumps from the other side of the door, followed by curses. He raises his eyes, and is met with the stare of both Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, eyebrows raised and lips curved upward in the slightest smile, respectively.

"Found your hat, Professor," he says breathlessly, struggling to his feet.

"This does appear to be the case. Thank you. And what, pray tell, has become of Dr. Watson?"

"Erm, he.." the rest of the sentence is lost in a little stream of mutters.

"What was that? Do speak up."

"He, erm, didn't want to do it anymore," says Sirius, in a rare moment of shame.

"I can't imagine why not." she replies tartly.

"Professors- I- there's something that you, I suppose, well- well, Malfoy had your hat."

"Ah-hah. Five points from Slytherin. No," she considers- "Perhaps twenty. Yes, I quite like the sound of that."

"But Professor- him and- whoever he was with, it might've been Goyle, or Crabbe, I can never tell which at a distance- they were looking for something- a hair? I dunno, it was all a bit dodgy, they seemed- really put out. To put it mildly."

The two Professors share loaded and significant glances. Sirius is not an idiot, and on seeing this-

"What? Why do you think they took it? D'you think they're up to something? Never liked Malfoy, he's _horrible-_ "

" _Thank you_ , Mr. Black, that will be all," Dumbledore interjects. His face no longer carries the bright amusement of a moment ago.

"And thank you for the hat. You may consider those five points from Gryffindor..back to Gryffindor. You are dismissed, Mr. Black."

"But..!"

" _Dismissed_ , Mr. Black, enjoy the Halloween Feast." At the words, Sirius deposits the mangled hat on the desk and slumps quietly from the room.

A brief silence follows his exit, broken by Minerva in a tone of apprehension- "Albus, you don't think-"

"Unfortunately, Minerva, _I don't know_. But I do have my suspicions which, I think, are not altogether unfounded." Dumbledore has seated himself in a chair opposite, leaning back and gazing at the ceiling as if for answers, fingers steepled under his chin. The ceiling gives him nothing in return.

"I had no idea the situation had become so dire," Minerva says, removing her spectacles and rubbing at her eyes wearily.

"There is something more sinister at work than we had supposed, I fear- we must be glad that they did not, apparently, succeed in their mission."

"This is outrageous- for a _student_ -!"

"Yes, I know…" sighs Dumbledore heavily. He crumples a corner of the forgotten parchment in his lap idly between his thumb and forefinger. "We must be vigilant. That it has progressed this far is…unacceptable. I will deal with Mr. Malfoy, and Misters Crabbe and Goyle, for I doubt that one would be privy to such information without the other at hand."

"Of course."

He looks at her, his face more lined than she can ever remember. "These children..Black, Potter…Lupin…Longbottom, Evans, _all_ of them, Minerva, _they are so young_ , and so eager…when I think of what a time awaits them…"

"You think it will come to that?"

"I do." Deep blue eyes meet green ones, in a glance both penetrating and deeply anxious. "I suppose," Dumbledore says, "May fortune favor the foolish?"

"And may fortune favor the bold," Minerva agrees quietly.

They are still a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

 ****SB**AD**MM****

They sit at the Gryffindor table, eating much too softly amid a Hall filled with ghosts and angels and demons and general merry-making, leering pumpkins and heaps of treacle tarts and pitchers of mulled cider. The noise is not quite deafening, but the gaiety and exuberance of the night swirls around them like a physical force. They are the eye of the storm, the center of taut energy and silence, of odd glances and awkward constraint.

Remus breaks the silence, before someone loses an eye to this completely un-Marauder-like severity. "Well, lads, it didn't go quite as planned, did it?"

"Lily kicked James," Peter blurts, and it is as if the dam has burst.

"Pete!" James exclaims, wounded, then- "Well it's not as if you had much better luck with _Snivellus-"_ (and it's true, because Peter is sporting a rather nasty looking bruise on his temple in addition to the Elf-Made-Cut, and his coconuts seem to have run away)

"Remus, I'm sorry- " says Sirius at the same time, deerstalker drooping over his eyes-

"No, it's my fault, I shouldn't have- flown off the handle, you're right, Dr. Watson was built in essence to take all the crap- "

They seem to have run out of words, and eat again silently for a moment, faces flushed.

"Malfoy's up to something," Sirius says finally, after setting his fork down on the empty plate, bereft of pie. Remus sighs exasperatedly.

"Do tell."

"Well, it was him, Moony- Malfoy took McGonagall's hat- and I caught him at it! An epic fluke, of course, but- it was Malfoy, and Goyle, I think- and they were looking for _hairs._ For McGonagall's _hair._ Now, unless they have the same seemingly undying passion for her as _I_ do, or are just into some seriously kinky stuff- what do you reckon?"

James quirks an eyebrow at him, while Remus has already dove into a handy book, assumedly looking for relevant information.

"Not… _Polyjuice?"_

"D'you reckon?"

"Are you saying that Malfoy was trying to sneak someone into the castle?"

"He as good as admitted they were working with someone else…someone with the power to pulverize them, it sounded like- they're in for it, actually…"

"Did you tell McGonagall?"

"And Dumbledore, 'course I did. "

The festive night, which should have been spent in pranks and good humor, crumbles into the darting of eyes and the eavesdropping of conversations, bringing nothing new but the unfamiliar feeling of unease in this, their home.

 ****SB**PP**JP**RL****

 **King Arthur and Faithful Squire: 1/2**

 **Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson: 3**

 **Conclusion: DRAW**

 ****SB**PP**JP**RL****

Found tucked into the pages of Lily Evan's Potions book: one (1) note containing the following:

 _Please forgive me._

 **A/N: Special thanks to Monty Python and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for their exceptional brilliance.**


	14. December 25, 1972: Christmas Etc

**Christmas Etc.**

 **December 25, 1972**

Something _thunks_ against the window. Regulus gives a little shriek of surprise and drops his fork on the floor, eggs splattering in it's wake.

It is Christmas morning, and the Black family is assembled at the table for a formal breakfast before the extended family arrives. On a day like this, one would probably expect Sirius to be itching to get to the stacks of presents under the tastefully decorated tree in the corner- all twinkling lights and crystal ornaments- but he knows that whatever waits for him will be undoubtedly, inconceivably, _boring._ And he's sure that engraved nameplates will be involved, or new clothes done up in green, or maybe if he's really lucky, a dusty old book detailing the whole of the Black Family's History. And it will probably have teeth. And most definitely of all, they will underline the fact that he is a Disappointment to the House of Black.

The _thunk_ comes again, at a different window, only now it's accompanied by a myriad of pecking taps and irritated hoots. Mrs. Black doesn't look up from the list she's perusing, but instead murmurs, "Kreacher, get rid of that horrid owl. No, give me the message first." She holds out an imperious hand, but Sirius jumps to intercept it- "That's _mine_ , actually," as he plucks the crumpled scroll from Kreacher's long fingers and smooths it against the table to read.

"I _beg_ your pardon! Sirius Orion Black, the _nerve-_ "

"Oh- um, sorry, Mother it's- James's owl. I recognized it.." But he's in too much of a hurry to care much. His Mother's voice begins to rise, but it's all background noise; what could _possibly_ be more interesting at this moment? The ink is blotted and scattered across the parchment, as if dashed off with irritation in the epic slowness of a quill:

 _S-_

 _You have to come. NOW. I just got THE most amazing- you're not going to believe it, you have to see- YOU HAVE TO COME. Now, today, NOW, your floo is blocked or something by the way what is wrong with it what is wrong with YOU why aren't you here NOW! HURRY UP!_

 _J_

"Is that from Potter?" asks Regulus through a mouthful of bacon.

"Just, mm..Father, may I be excused?" Sirius asks in what he hopes is a charming enough manner to get him away from the table. His father looks up at him from under dark and menacing brows and says,"No. Breakfast is not yet finished." Obvious, so obvious, how could it be any other way? He sips slowly from his teacup, sweeping his gaze across all assembled at the table. "Christmas is a time of familial tradition, as you are well aware, Sirius. The table is left only when all are finished." There is no room for argument in his statements, and Sirius sighs impatiently, shifting in his seat.

 _THUMP_ goes the window. _THUMP THUMP THUMP._

Sirius is out of his seat and grabbing at the owl determined to break their windows in a flash. Another note is tied to it's leg:

 _WHERE ARE YOU YOU INSUFFERABLE PIECE OF SHITE SIRIUS YOU NEED TO COME NOW WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR FLOO COME NOW OR I WILL FIND A DOZEN MORE OWLS IN THE NETHER REGIONS OF THIS HOUSE AND POSSIBLY GHOSTIES AND OTHER WEE BEASTIES TO MAKE YOUR CHRISTMAS MISERABLE UNTIL YOU COME COME NOW YOU MORON HAPPY CHRISTMAS_

 _James_

He gulps, because James is asking the impossible of him, and he knows it. His father is glaring at him pointedly, and he resumes his seat quietly, hoping to put him off the scent.

It's hopeless.

"May I be excused?" And he's off, dashing for his room, his father's wordless roar trailing after him. He can just hear his mother through the swinging doors to the dining room, "Oh, leave him, he's not exactly necessary.."

 ****SB**JP****

Peter wakes slowly to the stinging smell of bleach, that one Muggle item allowed to pass through Pettigrew doors. It smells very much like his mother, and decidedly not of the slightly spiced air that seems to pervade all of Hogwarts. He swallows, and his throat aches dreadfully.

It is Christmas, and, while his eyes are still squeezed shut, he can imagine he is in the dormitory, surrounded by the warmth of friends and the odd sleepy sounds they make. And there is _definitely_ no bleach at Hogwarts.

 ****PP****

 ** _From the Journal of Remus Lupin_**

REMUS J. LUPIN'S LIST OF LONG AND IMPRESSIVE WORDS FOR CASUAL CONVERSATION (cont. 12/25/72)

1\. Euphemism.

2\. Irrefutable.

3\. Phosphorescence (As in _the phosphorescent light blooming from Sirius's arse)_

4\. Ephemeral.

5\. Anthropomorphism (I am cute and cuddly as a wolf. Honestly, I am. Just look at those charming canines, aren't they adoooorable? Really, I could just be smiling very, very widely. At you.)

6\. Incorrigible (This word listed again as a repeat performance IN CASE MY HORRIBLE FRIENDS DECIDE TO INVESTIGATE THIS VERY PRIVATE JOURNAL AGAIN. YOU ARE ABHORRENTLY SMELLY, THE LOT OF YOU. WASH YOUR SOCKS.)

7\. Indemnify (As in _Hogwarts should be indemnified from the Marauders_. Should any future damage occur. Which is inevitable.)

8\. Inimical

9\. Ineradicable (I'm sensing a trend: In: _not, un- (negation)- Latin_. Perhaps I am a bit of a miser?)

10\. Juxtaposition (This seems to be the trump card of the English Dictionary- slip this into any conversation, or any answer in class, and you will be, wait for it- _Irrefutably_ smarter than a moment ago. The white _juxtaposed_ against the black. The slobbering, slathering werewolf _juxtaposed_ with his bright and shiny and innocent friends who have a penchant for frolicking in fields of poppies and sometimes looking at things such as private journals that no one asked them to look at. I tell you, _Juxtapose_ can do you no ill. You might take this into account the next time you attempt to win McGoogle's favor.)

11\. Myopic

12\. Attenuation

13\. Lycanthropy (Isn't my sense of humor marvelous?)

14\. Philistine (That one's for you, Sirius)

15\. Abomination (And that's you, James)

16\. Scatological (Don't worry, I didn't forget you Peter.)

17\. Now that you're all done reading it might behoove you to know that I have found each and every one of your not-so-secret journals. Well done, boys, well done, let's see who cracks first, shall we?

18\. Sirius I see right through you you'll _never_ manage to burn it.

19\. And James I know you still sleep with your teddy and that his name is Mr. Codswallop which, I think, is not really a nice thing to name a perfectly good teddy, and no, you may not deny it because I've seen you hugging it close and whispering sweet nothings in it's ear.

20\. Blackmail should be my middle name- much more melodious on the ear than _John_ , isn't it?

On another note- this one to myself, I promise to be dreadfully boring from this point forth, that should put you lot off- maybe- we had the whole company of aunts and uncles and unholy small children underfoot today and, while there was pudding enough to make even Sirius happy, I've only just managed to escape the walrus-like clutches of Aunt Geraldine, with the lipstick and the heaving bosoms. I received a really fantastic Thesaurus, with my name engraved and everything- as you can see I've already put it to good use- a pair of new shoes, which are really quite nice, and- best of all- a record player!

Hello? Hello are you still reading? Oh yes, Sirius, that's right, I AM going to bring it and blast Brahms all day long. You'll love it, I know. You'll all become intimately acquainted with the inner loveliness of Schumann. You'll even learn German words, because I shall be spouting them in an effort to preserve the Great Classic Tradition, and anyway everything is better in German. _Davidsbündler. Riesenkraft._ _Fliessend, aber nicht schnell; in den Auffangstakten_ _noch etwas z_ _ö_ _gernd_ _._ Did I mention Mahler will be present as well? Oh yes. Ah, the dormitory will be _filled_ with doubty German-ness and there will be NO ESCAPE FROM THE GERMAN PSYCHE. BE WARNED.

Been a lovely Christmas. In case you all wanted to know.

 ****RL****

 _Dear Sev,_

 _I hope you're having a nice Christmas. I'm sorry we haven't talked- or that I've been..standoffish, I guess. I'm sorry. Would you like to come for tea tomorrow?_

 _Lily_

 ****LE****

"Thanks, Mum," says Peter. He is perched on a hard-backed wood chair by the coffee table, his sister slouching in an armchair and his mother carefully smoothing the used wrapping paper with her wand so they can use it again next year. All the color seems to have faded from the edges of the paper. Peter blinks, and swallows, and winces. It's always too bright in the house, clinically bright; a type of ungodly light that seems to get into all the cracks and corners and show where the dust is hiding. The Muggle-style fake tree looks like it's been shocked and is standing to attention and not catching any dirt or grime _ever_. He is holding a box of powdered bleach packets to bring back to school with him because _who knows what nasty mites those House Elves have got on them, honestly, trusting little beasts to do the cleaning!_

He really, really wishes he were at Hogwarts.

 ****PP****

 _J-_

 _You KNOW my parents, I can't come right now! Are you MENTAL, with all the owls, you'll get me bloody chopped up into millions of pieces you IDIOT, and then you would have to mourn me pitifully for the rest of your days because it will be YOUR FAULT because you sent a MILLION BLOODY OWLS that finally poked Mother Dearest into the realm of MADNESS._

 _I'll see if I can floo call tonight after they've all gone to bed- they've got it all blocked up in case Aunt Walburga tries to come through, she always spills whiskey in the fire and it makes an enormous mess and the house smells like burnt hair for the rest of the holiday. And if she apparates she'll splinch herself- once again courtesy of the whiskey- anyway this way we've pretty much solidified the fortress against Aunt Walburga. Wish I could do that with the rest of them._

 _Talk soon. Hopefully. Don't count on it. Why don't you just waltz in on a lovely white horse and whisk me off my large maidenly feet, eh Jamesie, that would be the proper way to have it done. Then we could talk about whatever is SO important to you that you risk my LIFE AND SANITY for it. Shame, James- SHAME._

 _Happy Christmas._

 _-S_

 ****SB****

 _Dear Lily,_

 _I don't think your parents will appreciate my appearance in their home- not to mention your sister. But we could meet elsewhere?_

 _On the hill?_

 _I could make cocoa, but there's nowhere to sit._

 _Severus_

 ****SS****

 _S-_

 _Alright, you asked for it- MILLION AND ONE owls. Please don't kill them, I'm rather fond of the whole lot of them. Particularly Boris here, he's a right old curmudgeon and has been with us for AGES and likes his mice to be picked apart which I happily do for him. Actually not happily, bloody disgusting- and bloody. Wish I could use my sodding WAND instead of dull old kitchen knife. And anyway don't let Kreacher get at him because I am afraid he will eat him. Although on second thought it might be ok if Boris met with a mysterious end cos I wouldn't be relegated to chopping up mousy bits every holiday._

 _But last note today, PROMISE. But. You should floo over! Tonight! You know, sneak out, all that nonsense. Sirius, you have GOT to see this. Trust me- it's worth it. Even if you'll be horribly poisoned by your (very scary, by the way,) Mother- or even if there will be bits of Boris bobbing in your soup tomorrow. Just come tonight: I am SIRIUSLY SERIOUS._

 _No, but seriously. I know you're about to kill me._

 _XOXOXOXOXOJAMESXOXOXOXOXO_

 ****JP****

 _Sev,_

 _Yes, please. Also to the cocoa._

 _Lily_

 ****LE****

"Ow!"

"Sirius?"

"You stepped on my head!"

"Keep it down, will you, my parents- "

"Alright, Potter, out with it: what is it?"

In the darkness of Christmas night, on the stone-flagged hearth of the Potter's kitchen, James carefully lights a candle with a Muggle match, guiding the flame to the other stubby wicks situated in dishes around the room.

"It's complete bollocks we can't use our wands," says James conversationally.

"Potter- "

But James has pulled a length of silvery fabric from his pocket and brandishes it between them with a flourish. He holds it with the care that one has while in the presence of something extraordinary. James relishes the touch of the cloth in his hand, the _best_ secret he has ever had to keep and share, and a mad grin begins to shape his face. His glasses glint in the candlelight, and Sirius eyes him with the beginnings of a worried expression. His grin grows ever wider.

"Do you know what this is?" he whispers. Sirius reaches out his hand, touches the folds of the fabric. It's lighter than he thought it would be, as he carefully holds it up to the candlelight- as if it were made of almost nothing at all.

"It's a…cloak?"

James look manic as he takes the cloak and begins to throw it over Sirius's shoulders. "Just put it on- there. And now, look! Look down, look at your feet!"

Sirius does. His feet are not there. There is not a sign of his carefully shined shoes, or his toes, or his socks.

"James, why are my feet not there? Can you not see my feet? I _need_ my feet!"

James makes a noise in the back of his throat which clearly states Sirius's idiocy and complete inferiority in the presence of genius, and it is at this moment that he realizes. _Oh._ He's invisible. _Oh._

And then it hits him with the force of a bludger to his stomach, what this _means_ , and _OH my good GODS how much we can DO!_ Sirius tears the cloak from his body, throwing it at James- and it is like the Cheshire, as each limb melts carefully from sight, James's gleaming grin vanishing last of all.

 ****JP**SB****


	15. May, 1973: Of Wolves and Men

**May 16, 1973**

 **From the Journal of Remus Lupin**

 _Sometimes, I want it to be a dream. Or better yet, just not real. Not real. No matter that they know, they can't know- can't know what it's like..how it feels._

 _It's like walking to the scaffold, every night before the full moon- knowing it's coming closer, that every hour brings me closer. And there's nothing I can do about it. The inevitability of it is staggering. The dread, every single time…like every part of my body, my mind, is screaming no, no, no! But it doesn't make a bit of difference. It never will. No matter how hard, how badly, you can want something, it doesn't mean a thing._

 _One-hundred-seventeen changes. I've counted. Sometimes it helps, to focus on something as simple as numbers, or facts. One-hundred-seventeen times my body has been bent and broken and slowly put back together; that my ribs have knit themselves back into the whole, that my face has elongated to a snout, my teeth and nails have become instruments of destruction. One-hundred-seventeen times I've woken up naked, covered in piss and dirt, with the tang of blood in the air. Somehow there are always little rodent bodies lining the walls, and I never really know how they get there. There is only a streaky haze of images, and the pain, and the Moon._

It goes on, but Sirius puts the journal down. He feels sick, and considers that perhaps he really should not be reading the private thoughts of Remus J. Lupin.

It has been over two years since they have found Moony out- but somehow, Sirius has never considered all the implications of being a werewolf. It boggles him, and cuts him to the core all at once, and how has he never realized it, _his Moony_? A _werewolf?_ And to see it so blatantly written, so clearly desperate and resigned all at once…it's _too much_.

What was Moony doing right now? Sirius closes the journal and carefully places it back under the stack of neatly folded jumpers in Remus's trunk, snicking the lid shut. He pads to the window, where the Moon shines in its full glory down on him. It is menacing, and awful, and he suddenly loathes its brightness. Was Moony Changing? Or, no- the Moon was too high for that already- so what was he doing? Biting at himself, slamming against the walls of the Shack? He knows he'll be in the hospital wing for at least the next day, because he's gotten into the habit of sneaking him chocolate bars in the dead of night, so it's the first thing Remus sees in the morning. It's a small thing he can do, and so he does- something small that he knows can make the little lines around his eyes crinkle. _Remus, older than his age…_ They never speak of it, because he always looks closer to a dead thing, in the sliver of wand light Sirius holds high above his body. He always looks broken, and damaged, and it makes Sirius ashamed that he can't bring himself to stay, but he just- _can't._ Sirius is weak this way, and they both know it. They never speak of it, but the fact of the chocolate remains, acknowledged in the meetings of eyes and the quirk of a mouth.

There is no cure for lycanthropy. Everyone knows that. Sirius knows that. But the physical pain..there must be some way to curb that, surely? Sirius finds his mind drifting as he leans in the window seat, hugging his legs to his chest. The grounds are lit with an ethereal light, casting shadows in odd places. He wonders, idly, if it is so excruciatingly painful when McGonagall turns herself into a cat. Surely not, because she is constantly using it as demonstration for the first years, and no amount of dedication to teaching is worth the breaking and re-shaping of limbs. _So what's the difference?_ McGonagall kept her mind as a cat, that much was obvious, but Remus- Remus had nothing. No control, his mind tucked away in a corner of the wolf's mind. What a wolf really needs, Sirius thinks, is a _pack_.

He bolts upright so suddenly he almost falls from his perch.

 ****SB****

There is a tap at the door.

"Enter," she calls.

Sirius slips into her office, looking as if he's doing his very best to appear nonchalant, and failing miserably. She arches her brow over her spectacles, putting down her quill and leaning back in her chair. He comes to stand before her desk hesitantly. He fidgets. The silence stretches between them, as Sirius desperately looks anywhere but at her face. Her brows have almost reached their zenith before she decides action must be taken.

"Mr. Black, have you something to say or are you hear merely to reacquaint yourself with the interior of my office?"

He starts, shifting his attention to her face, and breaks into a charming grin. "Good morning, Professor- is that a new hat? Very fetching."

"Quite," Professor McGonagall snaps, adjusting the rim of her hat with a self-conscious hand. "Will that be all?"

His face slips, just a little, teeth catching his lip. "Um," he says.

The silence runs rampant, save for the ticking of a clock in the corner.

Finally, McGonagall sighs, and opens her mouth to say, _If you please, Mr. Black, I've rather a lot of work to attend to and so if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate you making yourself scarce,_ but doesn't get the chance to as Sirius chooses this moment to be out with it: "Could you tell me- what I mean is- how do I- I mean, hypothetically, of course, how would- would _one_ go about becoming an- animagus?"

Minerva McGonagall has taught many children in her years at Hogwarts. She has taught the Everetts, the Weasleys, the Prewetts, the Longbottoms, the Bones.

None have ever surprised, provoked, and generally agitated her quite so much as the duo of Black and Potter. But here was Sirius Black, very obviously lacking in a Potter, fidgeting in front of her desk, and asking _how to become an animagus_. She blinks. Once. Twice.

"Why would one such as yourself need this information?" She says, finally.

"No reason," Sirius says- _too quick!_ he thinks, mentally kicking himself. " That is to say, I was just- wondering. Also thought it might get me into your office," The winning smile makes a reappearance on his oh-so-innocent face. "James and I thought it would be interesting to..research." He adds helpfully.

"I see," McGonagall murmurs. "For an assignment, I assume?"

"Yes! Most definitely. An assignment."

"And for which subject?"

"Trannnnssss…..mmmmmm…" the words putter off into the back of his throat. He swallows.

She sighs. "Mr. Black, I am not sure for _what reason_ you would be considering studying animagic, but I am sure it is expressly forbidden. That being said…" Sirius twitches hopefully, meeting her eyes, and she cannot help but meet them with a twinkle of her own. "I do not see why I couldn't answer.. _certain questions_ you seem to have. I must stress, however, that this is magic _far_ beyond what any Hogwarts student could accomplish at school. Animagic is _extremely_ dangerous, and is only performed by those who have undergone rigorous study and have received a license. Do I make myself clear?"

Sirius is nodding so vigorously that it's beginning to hurt his neck, but he can't seem to stop, with the adrenaline and excitement beginning to course through his body. "Yes. Crystal! Crystal clear. Did I mention how lovely you look today? Like the, um, Dawning Sun Over a Field of Dew-Encrusted Blades of Grass? No? Well, um,"

"Mr. Black."

"Yes Professor."

"Do shut up."

He mimes his lips being sealed, and then mentally kicks himself. Again. McGonagall rolls her eyes, and leans back as far as her straight-backed chair will allow. "Well then, Mr. Black," she stretches, cat-like, and props her buttoned heels onto the corner of the desk, her robes riding up slightly to show off her- _shapely calves?!_ Sirius's brain back-fires with a little _putt._

" _Fire away."_ The mischief dances in her eyes, and Sirius is torn between awe and the sudden, all-consuming, poetry-inspiring need to declare his undying and passionate love.

 ****MM**SB****

Remus finds Sirius in the library, which is odd, because 'Sirius' and 'library' are like oil and water: there is no possible way for them to co-mingle. But there he is, in no uncertain terms, Sirius Black with a stack of ridiculously oversized books, head propped on chin, brows furrowed, with a little bit of tongue poking from between his teeth in the unmistakable signs of deep concentration.

"Hullo," says Remus.

Sirius jumps a couple inches off his seat, his hair going on end the way you would suspect an anime character might if he was surprised. "Moony!" He shouts. Madam Pince has her nose around the edge of the stacks as if on cue, glare pointed in their direction. "Hiya! Nothing, nothing wrong here, nothing at all!" Sirius smiles at her winningly, and she slinks away.

"Moony!" Sirius whispers, then glances at the book, slams it shut, realizes that Remus _can_ actually read, opens it again, flounders, and attempts to sit on it, but instead just drops it with a dull _thud_. The dust settles around them, and Remus stares at Sirius, nonplussed.

In retrospect, the library probably wasn't the best location to be researching topics that he doesn't want Remus to know about. In fact, he's quite sure it's the single worst location, barring Remus's lap, and anyway that would be all bony and knobbly knees and exceedingly uncomfortable. "You're out of the Hospital Wing," Sirius says instead.

Remus pulls out a chair, reaches down to collect the abused book, and sits with a groan. "Just got out, thought I'd pop by and pick up a book for Potions, you know how miserable I am at it." He places the book carefully between them, cover up. Its title leers at both of them, as if acknowledging just how awkward the ensuing conversation will be. _Understanding Lycanthropy_ , it says. _How Sirius Black will Understand Lycanthropy and Judge Remus Lupin Forever and Ever and Ever._

Remus looks him in the eye, and for the second time today, Sirius finds his eyes wandering away, fidgeting and looking anywhere but at that incriminating Book. Remus clears his throat and says pointedly, "Would you like some chocolate?" He slides a half-eaten bar across the table towards him.

It's the bar Sirius left for him in the Hospital Wing, one of those Honeyduke's bars that is all creamy dark nougat with crunchy bits dotted throughout. Sirius reaches out, breaks a chunk in two, and hands one to Remus. The other goes into his mouth melting slowly on his tongue. Sometimes, a bar of chocolate is something to appreciate, to taste and examine. It warms the tense air between them. "Does it hurt?" asks Sirius quietly.

Remus's hands wander over to the bar, breaking off another piece. He is thoughtful as he pops it into his mouth, considers, and says frankly, "Yes."

Sirius cringes, and it makes Remus sigh.

"Honestly, Sirius, I've learned to live with it. It's…it's who I am, now. It's not a part of me that I particularly _enjoy_ , but there you have it. Is that why you're reading this?"

Sirius falters, twisting his mouth. "Well…I guess I just..Moony, is there anything I can _do_? That anyone can _do?_ It's stupid, I know and, I mean, I know there's not a cure, but- "

"Look, Sirius, _it's ok_. Really! I mean, it's- Dumbledore has..has let me in here, and isn't that something in and of itself? _More_ than something?" He munches thoughtfully for a few moments, wiping the smears of chocolate delicately from his lips with his fingertips.. "I suppose the only thing that _could_ help would be..I dunno, somewhere where I wouldn't have to bash myself against the walls all night- a way I could just be an- an _animal_. Does that make sense? I've never really..spoken to this about anyone before. But really, it's amazing I'm here at all! And that I've got..you and James, and Peter, it's more than I ever hoped for." Remus glances up at Sirius suddenly, as if for confirmation. Sirius's eyes are huge, lips half-parted, and it suddenly makes Remus intensely uncomfortable. "Never- never mind, it's not like you really need to- well, never mind."

Sirius's mind reels, whirring away in confirmations and half-formed plans. He doesn't register that he hasn't replied, that he's still lost in thought, and only distantly hears Remus's hiss of pain as he stands up.

"Thank you for the chocolate," Remus says, as he breaks off one last piece and hurriedly disappears from the library.

The bar of chocolate lies in the center of the table, its gold foil winking in the delicate light.

 ****SB**RL****

James is sitting cross-legged on his bed, wand pointed at his bare chest, mumbling spells under his breath. The tip of the wand zaps him and he yelps, then drops the wand to better inspect the reddened spot.

It is in this position that Sirius finds him, smirks, and perches on his bed. James doesn't even look up. "By no means," says Sirius, "don't let me distract you."

"I won't," says James. "Anyway..ah hah! See! There, look- " he points to his chest. Sirius leans in to peer closer. "My, what a delicate milky-white chest you have there, Potter. It's downright lovely, is what it is."

" _No_ , look, I made a hair! I was trying to make my chest grow hair and it _did_. There! Look, right there."

"Why, my baby's all grown up!" Sirius exclaims, then, "Oy, there's two on your nipple, you're right _manly."_

"Where?"

"Left one."

"Oh. We should name them. Oh, I know, there's three so this one is _Sirius_ , and this one is _Remus_ , and the lonely one over here is _Pete._ "

Sirius wrinkles his nose, and shifts himself into a more comfortable position. "Did you know," he says conversationally, "You are _disgusting_."

"It's a compliment, you know- what's the saying? Keep your friends close to your chest.."

"No you berk, it's _keep your friends close and your enemies closer_. In which case one of those ought to be named _Snivellus_."

"Now _that_ is foul! Take it back!"

Sirius ignores him in favor of repositioning himself, dropping onto his stomach and propping his head on his fists. James has picked up his wand again and continues to prod at his chest, mumbled words making the wand's tip glow.

"I have a proposition for you." All traces of humor have left Sirius's voice, as he stares pensively past James.

"Oh? Well I might remind you, Black, that no matter how many times you ask, _no_ still means _no."_

"I'm serious, James." The use of his name makes James look up. Sirius's face is.. _apprehensive_ , he decides, like he's not sure whether he should even be speaking aloud. James knows this look intimately, from the many times he has worn it himself. His chest hairs are abandoned without a second thought. "Out with it, then," he says, because this is something unquestionably more interesting.

Sirius takes a moment to gather his thoughts; sits up, and looks at James directly. "I want us to become animagi."

There it is, blunt as can be. James blinks in consternation, his head tilting to the side as he narrows his eyes at Sirius. The little bubble of tension builds between them, until he feels pity for Sirius, whose knuckles are getting a bit white around the edges. "Why? I mean, yeah, sure, absolutely, let's do it! But- _why?_ "

Sirius blows out a sigh and rubs his fists into his eyes, then brings his hands down and through his hair. "For Remus," he admits. "I think- I think it might help him. With his transformations. I read his journal- "

"Oh not _again- "_

"He knows I read it, don't be such a _mum_ \- "

"But, you know, a bloke needs _some_ privacy! You read something you shouldn't have, didn't you?"

Sirius winces. "Ah-hah," nods James, "I thought so."

"Look, that's not the point! It- it was awful. What he wrote in there." He holds up a hand to stop James, his mouth already open- "And I'm not going to tell you, so don't ask. The point is, this is the best way- the _only_ way- we can help. We're going to become animagi, and be his _pack_. Because that's really what we are, isn't it?" Sirius gestures between the two of them, face solemn. "Brothers. Pack."

James nods slowly, and extends his hand. Sirius meets it with his own. They grip each other at the wrist, hard, their prints pressing into each other's flesh.

"Do you trust me?" Sirius asks.

"Of course I do." James agrees soberly. The air of pensiveness is broken at that moment, when James's face cracks into a grin. "I reckon I'll be something _epic_. Can an animagus form be a dragon?"

Sirius shakes his head and smirks. "Nah, you'll be a Tufted Titmouse. Very cute. Very endearing."

"A _tit_ mouse? Have you lost your bloody mind!"

"It's not a mouse, it's a _bird_."

"Doesn't matter- I will not be anything with the word _tit_ in it. We'll save that for Peter."

They both break into snorts of laughter, excitement beginning to bubble through their veins.

"Listen, not a word to Remus though- it's got to be a surprise." Sirius says earnestly, eyes crinkling at the edges. "And anyway, I reckon it might take _ages._ We'll have to _study_ and, you know, _be studious_." He grimaces in distaste- "But it'll be _worth it_."

"And what about Pete?" asks James, suddenly doubtful.

"We'll tell him..eventually. Once we've figured out a bit more. This is huge, you know."

James's head nods vigorously. "It's a good thing we're ace at Transfiguration already."

Sirius scowls, hands tracing a path up through his hair to scrub it vigorously. "Yeah, about that… McGoogles…I may have…asked her. About animagic. A wee bit. Just a tiny, tiny little bit of a hint."

"You _what?!_ "

"James, she was _seriously fit_ , you don't even know- "

"No! No, I don't want to hear it, not in the slightest, lalalalalala…!"

 ****SB**JP****

 **May 23, 1973**

From the Journal of Remus Lupin

They have been acting…very strange. _Too_ strange. The type of strange where I walk into the room and their heads are bent together over a book, voices trading whispers- and then they see me and _stop_. And then they make the most _ridiculous_ excuses and scurry away to somewhere, and it's- it's stupid that I feel bad to be left there standing alone. To be fair, it looks as if they've been doing the same to Peter as well- but that just leaves the two of us and, honestly, I'm not sure how well I really get on with him without James there. James is like the glue, he's what makes us _The Marauders_. It's silly, really, but without him we go spinning off like kites, or like ships that have lost their mooring.

And Peter is, well. Peter. I've ended up doing a fair amount of studying with Lily in the past week, now that James and Sirius have traipsed off to hell-knows-where with their damnable book. But she's not a bad sort, really. Always up for a good study session or non-inane conversation. I understand why James likes her so much, but I'm not sure _he_ really understands it. He'll get there. Eventually. Maybe. Well, one can hope.

We'll be on holiday in a month and- what are they _doing!_ No, I'm sorry, I can pretend to ignore it all I want but _it's driving me up the wall_ , and- I normally wouldn't care so much, but I _swear_ they are up to No Good. And I'm certain the cover of that book is charmed, there is no way they can look at breasts for that long, even if we are- Gods forbid- _teenagers_. I need to steal it, is what. I know they're up to something _and they're not telling me_ \- or Peter- and, Merlin help me, it's probably something so heinous, so abhorrently _stupid_ that they've decided not to include me. In which case I really, really ought to stop them. _Needs must, when the devil drives…_


	16. Summer 1973: On the Workings of Animagic

**Chapter 16**

 **Summer, 1973: On the Workings of Animagic**

Jamie-

Here's a question: have you got anyone in the family that was an animagus? Just for, you know, the benefit of a pointer in the general direction of turning yourself into an animal. The 'Hallo there Uncle Arnold, oh, sorry, were you eating? Oh no, just in for a kip, I see, bit of drool there, that's the ticket, and, oh, did you ever happen to be able to turn into an animal? No? Never? Not even a, say, gnat, or a dung-beetle, or something much more interesting like a five-footed llama? No? Ah well, more's the pity.'

Or something in that vein.

I've included this scrap of something I found when I was epically bored and poking around the library here. Something to it? Well, I mean, _obviously,_ theres's something to it but help and what does it mean _exactly_? That we have to find our _true names_ before we can even hope to get started on this? And how the _hell_ do we figure that out?

I've actually heard about the Naming magic before, but never put much stock in it- see, here's the problem, that we're keeping Moony good and out of this, because he'd be up to his eyeballs in books and excitement and disapproval by now. And _answers_ , because I'm sure he could tell us all about _Naming Magic_ and rub it in our faces for good measure. Bloody hell, this is…a nightmare. I'm starting to wonder if we can do this on our own…?

Of course we can. What am I saying. Marauders, and all that!

Kisses and lipstick smooches to my most darlingest Jamesie-kins the tufted titmouse otherwise known as the giant enormous tit MWAH!

S

 **—**

Animagic, of _anima_ and _magus,_ is a moste potente magic. That a mage may prov'st their skill, he may shape thine own aspect of Animal. As the art ist' unpossessed by the many, 'twas a rare thing…[ _passage obscured]_ …who were not so capable, a familiar wast' oft' adopted as an acceptable seconde… _[passage obscured]…_

 _Credited to Scribe Amenemope, of the 19th dynasty_

That one might find his Self requires meditation on the soul, and the nature of one's own being. The casting of a Patronus may assist in this contemplation, drawing forth an essence into corporeal form. After one has given serious thought to the nature of one's Self, it is then necessary to summon the True Name of the animal articulated within. Only with the Naming magic will the natural Self be drawn forth. Do not give your Name to others lightly, as it bequeaths ancient power unto the holder.

 _Selection from_ _On the Workings of Animagic_

 **—**

To Sirius Black, otherwise known as my Dear Friend the Colossal Gaping _Well-You-Know-What_ :

NO.

Is the short answer. Unfortunately. And I don't have any uncles that I know of. And anyway how much could we really learn from a narcoleptic drooling family member? No, mate, this is a job for us, and us alone. Although it really is a pity we can't use Moony, he'd figure it out for us clean and quick, and we'd have done with it.

You've completely missed the starting point, mate: _Patronus_. Do you know that charm? I looked it up, it was in one of my Dad's old spell books, here:

 _This ancient and mysterious charm conjures a magical guardian, a projection of all your most positive feelings. The Patronus Charm is difficult, and many witches and wizards are unable to produce a full, corporeal Patronus, a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom they share the deepest affinity. You may suspect, but you will never truly know what form your Patronus will take until you succeed in conjuring it.*_

And d'you know what they're for? _Dementors_. For driving bloody _dementors_ away! Which is probably completely useless because when are we ever going to turn the corner and, oh look, It's a bleeding dementor lurking at the end of that dark and dank and chilly passage way, I suppose it's time to make a luminescent and shiny projection of my _soul_ now!

But I suppose it can't hurt. We should start a pot- sickle for every dementor we see, that'll go till we're 50, and _then_ we should divvy it up and we'll all have a knut apiece, if that. Rich, wot.

I digress.

The charm is _Expecto Patronum:_ move your wand clockwise, like a giant spiral, think happy thoughts. And that time I caught you in the girl's loo doesn't count cos you only got a good look at wossname's ankles, and they're positively potato-shaped. And the time you gave me that great bloody pink feather duster of a tail ALSO doesn't count, for that is not a Happy Memory but merely a deplorable BETRAYAL. Might I suggest the time we got all the Slytherins to wee themselves in a giant piddle party in the Great Hall. It was worth it, but O the Smell!

At any rate- start working on it, you'll be here in a week- we'll get it, by the end of the summer for sure. And lots of…soul searching, _loathsome_ as that sounds…it's for Moony. I repeat, I will dive into the very questionable depths of my soul, for Moony, I will, I will!

See you soon. Your Most Darling and Dashing-

J

 **—**

Dear Severus,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I am writing to invite you to a small gathering of friends and like-minded people that I will be hosting at Malfoy Manor on Saturday, the twelfth of August at five o'clock P.M.

It would be wise of you to join us. Please respond at your earliest convenience.

Lucius Malfoy

 **—**

 _The stag roamed the forest, antlers brushing young leaves as it tread carefully through the remnants of scattered snowbanks. Its gait was steady, calm- a walk proud as well as wary, eyes wide in the dimming of the light._

 _The slight rustle of the brush uncovered a black dog, tongue lolling. The dog approached the stag silently, flanking it with practiced ease. Lowering its head, the stag snorted into the breeze, scenting the air around them, tasting the approaching wolf in the breeze._

 _The small, creeping creatures of the night stirred in their nests, whiskers twitching in the oncoming darkness. An owl swooped low, intent on its prey; the scurry and shriek of a mouse was cut short as it was carried higher, higher into death's perch._

 _The twilight stilled._

 _Low came the wolf, slinking and stealthy, eyes shining through shadows. It approached its brothers, nipped at the dog's tail. The dog yelped, snuffled earnestly at the wolf's ears, and was pushed away by a batting paw. Shuffling nervously, the stag peered down at his unlikely fellows. They stilled, together, as the last rays of light disappeared between the high-reaching branches, tension bunching in their haunches as the night closed around their senses, drawing forth the urge to shoot forward into the dark as an arrow would leap from its bow._

 _And then they ran, ran, ran…_

 **—**

James wakes with a start; the sudden jerking from the deepness of sleep that leaves you breathless and confused, groping after sense and tendrils of past memory.

 _It was dark…the trees snapped past…the wind, my…antlers?_

But what was truly puzzling about the dream was the fact that it was so _familiar._ He pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes, until streaks of red spots pop into existence. It is a feeling so completely disorienting, so anxious and wound up in his belly, that he does the only possible logical thing.

James throws off his sheets, and pads across the floorboards to the extra bed his parents keep in his room, just for Sirius's overly frequent summer stays. He pauses to consider the sleeping form, splayed on his stomach with his head tucked under the pillow, a light snoring fluttering the cover of the pillowcase. James sits, matter-of-factly, on Sirius's arse.

A snort, a strangled cough, a desperate twist-turn to fight off the sudden and undesired weight of a teenage boy. Sirius struggles with the pillow on his face while James cackles under his breath, letting his body sink into a perfect dead-weight.

"Awake yet?" James whispers to the air.

"Oi, this is- this is uncouth, is what! Here I was, sleeping peacefully- "

"Snoring- "

"Black's do not _snore_ , I beg to differ- and here you come and have to ruin a perfectly good dream! And wossname, with the curly hair, was in it, I'm holding you personally accountable- oi, d'you think if I stuck my hand in her hair, I'd be able to get it out again? Or would it just sort of…stay there? Rot away, be forever a part of her head? D'you suppose she brushes it?"

James sighs dramatically, flopping backward onto the bed, feet hanging off the side, while Sirius arranges himself into a less potentially suffocating position.

"I just dreamed about- well, I guess it was us? I was a- a stag, and Remus was a wolf, obviously, and you were a- hah! You were a dog! A big, black dog…and we were in the forest, running…"

"A dog…hm."

They sit for awhile, in companionable silence, breathing into the darkness of the room.

"Are you asleep?" James whispers, after the stillness has trickled back into the constant of lethargy and his lids have begun to stutter and droop.

"Mm..no. Just thinking. D'you ever wonder if we had lives, before this? Or lives after this?" Sirius whispers.

"Dunno," says James. When he blinks slowly, he sees the silhouettes of branches against a moon-brightened sky. "In my…dream…it felt familiar. Like it was _really us._ Like I'd…been there before.." His words have become slurred with sleep, the blinks longer and longer. The moon peers at him behind his eyelids.

"I like to think we stay together. Whatever happens. You know? Wouldn't it be sad, being best mates, and then, one day- nothing?"

"Mmm…too…philosophical… way too philosophical, mate…"

"Well now I'm awake," says Sirius to the room. James has inexorably curled himself into a ball at the foot of the bed and makes shamelessly delicate sleep-sounds, his hands tucked together under his chin. Sirius falls back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I could be a dog," he murmurs into the dark. "Even if it's not that..dignified, or anything. I'm alright with a dog. Dogs are loyal, and I'm…well, I guess this just sums it up. Wait, but- " Sirius suddenly shoves his foot into James's stomach, jolting him awake.

"Wha- nnngh- "

"James, oi, Jamie- what was Peter? _Where was Peter_?"

 **—**

Severus glances through the letter, one last time, before crumpling it in his hands.

" _Incendio,"_ he says coldly, his wand pointing at the expensive parchment. It withers into a ball of dust on the floor. He stands, pulling his hair back from his eyes, and steps pointedly through the ash, tracking it down the hall and out into the bright morning sunlight. Lily is expecting him, and he won't keep her waiting.

 **—**

This was it, the last night of summer. Trunks are packed, broomsticks carefully stowed, dungbombs squirreled away into compartments with furtive catches.

Secrets, it seems, are best kept in the darker hours; where whispers suffice and glances are guarded- or better yet, when there aren't adults around to muck up your plans. It is in this spirit that James and Sirius lounge in a stand of young alders, waiting for the damnable sun to finish up its lonely sojourn across the sky and go to bed already.

"Wouldn't this make more sense to do in the daylight, anyway? I mean, Patronuses are supposed to be- I don't know, shiny? Filled with sparkly wondrous particles?"

"It wouldn't matter if we'd actually _managed_ it once, so it doesn't matter anyway. Look, we both know this is just so we're close enough to your parent's house so the Ministry doesn't catch wind of us doing magic, and far enough so your parents don't actually see us making… failed Patronuses. Oh, there it goes now- come on, let's go a bit farther.."

James and Sirius step through the trees, treading carefully and still managing to step on every twig and root, though the curses are kept to a whisper. They edge into the clearing, where the beginnings of starlight trickle down into their faces. James draws his wand as Sirius mirrors him, and they stand, side by side, eyes closed, listening to the thrum of insects embracing twilight.

"Ready?" Sirius murmurs, his grip tightening on the smooth surface of the wand.

James turns to him, eyeing him carefully. "Let's make it tonight. Let's do it. _Now._ We can do this."

Sirius quirks a brow at him, pausing, "For Moony?"

"For Moony," James nods.

Breaths are inhaled, held, wands drawn to meet the air quivering around them in suspense.

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ they roar as one.

Into the twilight pours a stag, glittering with ethereal light, lowering its powerful head and tossing its antlers. And as if in response, the dog is drawn from Sirius, a joyful creature of light tracing circles in the air above their heads.

It is an incredible sight, James thinks, to see the essence of your own happiness manifested in physical form- and what elation it reflects back! They stand together for what seems like hours, caught in the wonder of their unconscious expression, before the bellowing of Mrs. Potter's voice is carried to them by the breeze.

"… _JAMES POTTER….!"_

"Bugger," James mutters under his breath. The animals dissolve into the night, lingering like so many fireflies, winking out one by one. They silently tuck away this memory, as fuel for the next brilliance that is a Patronus- and whisk off into the night.

 **—**

Peter rolls out of bed at half ten. He yawns, he stretches, he walks to the wardrobe to retrieve a pair of freshly pressed trousers- thinks better of it, and shuffles to the toilet in his old, sagging pyjamas.

The toilet is occupied. He can hear his sister half-singing to herself in an unintelligible string of nonsense. He considers the sudden urgency of his predicament, twisting his mouth, and then decides- welp, nothing for it, and heads down the stairs for the kitchen sink.

The sink has been scrubbed within an inch of its life, with nary an unwashed dish in its gleaming bowl. He smirks, if only for the perverse pleasure that creeps through him at this small act of rebellion, and reaches down to fumble with his pajama bottoms.

"Just _what_ do you think you're doing." There is ice in his mother's voice. He jerks his hands away as he whirls around, eyeing her pinched face. He suddenly, and seemingly from nowhere- almost- _loathes_ her. Loathes that he is here, in this house, and that his friends haven't written him for the entire month he has been home. Loathes her tired, unpleasant face, the smell of Muggle bleach, loathes the absence of laughter in his life, knowing that James and Sirius are probably frolicking in their birthday suits and peeing anywhere they damn well please.

"Nothing, Mum, nothing at all," he says flatly, and pushes past her.

 **—**

 **A/N: *Miranda Goshawk, aka J.K. Rowling, thank you ever so!**


End file.
